


HEIST

by AlexaCora



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-23 05:52:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14928389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexaCora/pseuds/AlexaCora
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen is a young, play-it-safe, art restorer who finds herself swept up in a whirlwind romance with her charming boss, who turns out to be a world class thief.





	1. Oh, Sinnerman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giving it one more try. I'm an awful procrastinator, so I finished this entirely. Expect updates pretty much daily.

The man strolled casually down the overcast London street, as his gloved hand pressed a cellphone to the cheek of its owner.

A dispatcher answered. "Metropolitan Police, what’s your emergency?... Hello?... Hello?"

The man with the phone was older, with a beard and a kind face, and he wore a camelhair coat. His hand trembled.  He spoke.

"Listen carefully: there’s a bomb in the basement of the cathedral."

There was a pause, before the dispatcher answered. "Sir, what is your location?"

The man cocked his head, looking up at: An enormous cathedral.  An ornate Gothic dome flanked by spires, reaching to the sky. Marble statues of robed saints stared down him.

"St. Paul’s."

The surrounding square was bustling, packed with people. The dispatcher now sounded panicked. "Sir, I am transferring this call. Do not hang up. Do not hang--"

CLICK. The Man stepped off the curb, casual, and dropped the disposable cellphone into a rubbish bin.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKkVv16mmps

The Bronson and Webb Gallery stood against the grey London skyline. A tiny gallery nestled between brownstones on a quiet street.

Outside, a young man with tattoos, who appeared to be in his late twenties, a Formula 1 ‘F’ inlaid on a wreath on his bicep, smoked by a rubbish bin. Another man, also late twenties, in an impeccable tailored slate-gray-suit sprang up the steps of the gallery. The second man was confident.  Playful.

The Suit moved past Tattoos, and tossed a lidless water bottle into the trash. "Pardon."  
  
The odd thing was, the water bottle was full. He kept his face down and obscured as The Suit headed inside...

 -0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
... Past a few Patrons trickling through the gallery’s rooms. An aloof assistant clicked through e-mails. A rent-a-cop security guard paced the floor. A woman worked the coat check.

The Suit wandered upstairs, past a second guard who read the daily mail. He headed into a little room off the hallway. The Suit was entranced by a large painting of a sunset over a craggy coastline. He pulled up his sleeve, checked the time on his rose-gold vintage Rolex. Tick, tick, tick...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
On the street across from St. Paul's, the older man sipped a cappuccino at an all fresco cafe. He watched as cops swarmed St. Paul’s cathedral across the street.  
On his laptop, several windows were open: one was a program rapidly scrolling through potential codes. His eyes darted between this page and a browser window. His fingers danced across the keyboard like it was a piano.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Upstairs, The Suit stood, looking at that sunset painting. Three security cameras, two in the corners and one in the center of the room, were oriented towards him. But, like magic, the cameras tilted away from where he was standing.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

On the older Mans screen was a stream of each of the gallery’s camera feeds. He was manipulating the cameras. He pressed a small Bluetooth earpiece, and spoke low: "Perfect view from here."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Various camera angles observed the gallery.

Upstairs, The Suit pulled a thin satchel from inside his coat. He flicked it open, revealing an array of tools: knives, scissors, pliers. He chose a thick blade.

Outside, the Tattoos flicked his burning cigarette into the trash can.

BOOM!!!

An explosion, and the can caught fire: it wasn’t water in that bottle. Tattoos ducked inside.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In the gallery, patrons turned, concerned at the activity. Tattoos pulled the fire alarm and it screeched.

Guard one rushed outside to find the flaming trash can. "Call the police! Now!"

Guard two, upstairs, dropped his Daily Mail, grabbed an extinguisher from the wall, and rushed downstairs.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Outside, at that very moment, a tour bus full of tourists arrived on the street corner. Guard one watched, daunted, as a throng of people spilled out and headed toward the little museum.

The Suit grabbed the sunset painting hard. Tearing it from the wall, and slashing the suspension wires anchoring it to the sheetrock. He sliced the frame and discarded the wood.

In one fluid motion, he rolled up the canvas. He took a plastic cylinder from inside his coat, and fought to wedge the canvas, a tight scroll, inside. But it wouldn't quite fit...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

One guard struggled to evacuate guests as the tour group of people tried to enter the museum, another dousing the trash can. They were totally overwhelmed. The assistant rushed outside.

"The police are coming as fast as they can, but they’re strapped."

One of the guards spun around, frustrated. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Some big emergency across town!  Some sort of bomb threat."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

  
The Suit couldn't fit the painting in the tube. There was shouting from downstairs... He froze. Running out of time. Onto plan B: The Suit wrapped his scarf around his elbow like a bandage. Timed with the cry of the alarm, he smashed the window. Glass shattered, an external alarm screeched. He hurled the painting.

It soared out the window. The canvas unfurled, scraped a ledge, slammed the lip of a dumpster, and bounced twice on the ground. From his pocket, The Suit pulled what look like a couple of black golf balls. He set them on the ground, and they rolled a ways before silently exploding in a plume of dense smoke.

As he left, The Suit pressed his tiny Bluetooth earpiece. "Slight change in plan."

He shook out his arm, and little shards of glass hit the floor. The face of that beautiful Rolex was now cracked.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
In the alley behind the gallery, a black Rolls Royce glided up the alley. The painting lied in an oily puddle, and a gloved hand plucked it from the cement.  
  
Inside the gallery it was chaos downstairs. Guard one perked up at the sound of the new alarm. The Suit came downstairs, joining the fold... Guard one shuffled past the crowd to see, on the security monitor, the upstairs room was full of smoke. Holy shit.

Meanwhile, a cranky old lady argued with Guard two as he ushered her out. But The Suit swooped in, taking her by the arm. What a gentleman. Guard two was grateful, glad to be rid of her...

But Guard one watched this, concerned. Did that man just come from upstairs? He fought the crowd to follow The Suit out...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
The Suit deposited the old lady on a bench. She opened her umbrella. And when she turned to thank him, he was gone.

When Guard one emerged, he was met by the cops and firefighters, who had just arrived. He looked over their shoulders...

The Suit walked briskly. He crossed the street and turned a corner... The Rolls Royce waited for him. He got in, and the car zoomed off, leaving the quiet street behind.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Later that night, in a hip, expensive part of town. Fine shops and restaurants. Daenerys Targaryen, twenty six, bundled up in a knit cap, long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, peered into the storefront of an art gallery. She was sweet-faced but serious. Smart. The belief that the world was her oyster -- that she could have it all -- had nearly been beaten out of her. But she could still dream...

She stared at a picasso drawing. Flecks of pencil, somehow so alive: two simple shapes intertwined. A man and a woman.

Her breath fogged the window. She wiped it with her mitten. She felt a wave of something like longing... A group of attractive young people practically plowed over her as they rushed into the bar next door. They were drunk, laughing.

Daenerys winced and spoke up. "Oh, sorry."

She watched them tumble inside. She headed past the bar, but then -- what the hell? -- changed her mind. She ducked in.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys peeled off her winter coat. She was wearing the hell out of her little sale-rack dress, knock-off Missoni scarf, art deco earrings, and well-worn boots she'd had forever. She perused the cocktail list: £20 martini after £20 martini.

"I think I’ll start with water..."

She smiled at the Bartender, apologetic. He rolled his eyes.

Daenerys watched the sea of people dance, laugh, flirt.

"Looks like you’re having an adventure."

Dany turned to the man who spoke. He was sort of cute. He nodded to her water glass.  
  
"I’m easing into my adventure, okay?" She took a gulp with a little smile. He laughed. "I’m going to be very well hydrated when the adventure starts."

"I'm Daario."

"Dany."

  
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Empty cocktail glasses littered the bar in front of them. They were both drunk, and Dany talked a mile a minute.  
  
"It’s a crazy life. The travel’s constant. Dinners with curators, parties, exhibits and openings. Sometimes I wake up in my hotel and I don’t even remember what city I’m in. It’s kind of fun -- I open the window and listen down to the street, try to hear what language people are speaking. Oh, man, I’m sorry, I’m going on and on, and--"

Daario waved her off. "No, no. It sounds incredible. Exciting. I don’t... I mean, I’m just an account manager..."  
  
"It is. And the money’s great. But there’s nothing like the work. Today, I was restoring an actual Salvador Dali. You know, stunning, surreal, all about the gap between reality and illusion. But this painting’s covered in craquelure: dense little spiderweb cracks in the paint. So I took a very fine brush we special ordered... and as I work, I’m thinking... How many people has this painting touched? It’s a piece of history for sure, a huge influence on everyone from contemporary artists to graffiti crews... But... How many, just, regular people have seen it and cocked their heads and thought ‘what does it mean?’ It has this pull, this power, and I got to be a part of that. Even just for a few hours. I got to make it beautiful again. Touching a piece like that, it’s such a rush. It chills you, it terrifies you. You’ve never felt so alive."

Daario was rapt when Dany’s phone rang.  
  
"Oh, sorry." Her face fell when she checked the number. She considered. "Shit. It’s work. I’m sorry. And thank you for... This."

"Don’t apologize. Take it."

Daenerys figured he probably didn't expect her to leave, which she did.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany answered the call and fought to sound cheerful. "Janine? Thank you so much for calling back. I know I’m behind, I think I left like ten messages--"

Janine cut her off. "Eleven."  
  
"I’m wondering if maybe we can find a way to extend the forbearance."

"I’ve stretched it as far as I can, Miss Targaryen. You need to start making your minimum payment."

Dany’s heart sank. Her voice was small. "I can’t."  
  
She headed home through foggy, cold, springtime London.  
  
"I make minimum wage and pay UK taxes. I can’t get a better job without experience and I can’t get experience without a better job. It’s a Catch-22. Janine, I’m... I need your help. If I can somehow just eek out another month, I can figure something out. Please..."

A heavy sigh from Janine. Down one cobblestoned street, Dany couldn't help but stop. A street vendor sold tacky paintings on the sidewalk.

"Here I see U Chicago and then the Academy of Fine Arts in London. Federal subsidized, Federal unsubsidized, and private loans..."

Dany pondered a hideous hot-pink pop art Portrait of Elvis Presley. She spoke into her phone. "Yes, that’s correct."  Then, to the vendor while covering the mouth piece of her phone. "Four pounds."

The vendor laughed and shook his head. No way.  Keeping the phone covered she frowned. "Give me a break. What did you use on this, crayon and sidewalk chalk?" She touched the edge of the painting and her mitten came back fuschia. She smirked at the vendor, who had no defense.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany rode a double-decker bus over the London Bridge. Big Ben, the London Eye, the city illuminated in the distance. The Elvis picture took up the seat beside her.  
  
"So your total account balance is--"  
  
"Oh, do you have to say it? Please--"  
  
"Three hundred fifty-eight thousand dollars and ninety-six cents."

Dany felt as though she was going to vomit.  
  
"I need a verbal response."

"Yes. That is my account balance. The sum of all my stupid ambition and unrealized dreams that will haunt me for the rest of my life."

Janine was quiet on the line.  Daenerys merely sat in the silence before Janine finally broke it. "Is help from family an option?"  
  
"No... I can’t."

Daenerys jumped off the bus and trudged up the stairs of her modest building. "There’s got to be something we can do. An exception to the rules..."  
  
Janine sighed. "I’m sorry. There’s just no way around it. If you don’t start making payments, you’ll default."

Daenerys stopped. She looked up to her water-stained ceiling, suddenly filled with the overwhelming need to cry as tears formed in her eyes.  _Stupid, pull yourself together_.  "Thank you for trying..."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany trudged into her crummy studio apartment. It was a shoebox, but she had livened it up as much as possible. Apple boxes for a coffee table with big melted candles; a scarf framed as a tapestry; a huge mural was in progress on one wall -- a BANKSY recreation. A handcrafted mobile hung from the ceiling, by her only window.

It was vibrant... But on a budget. Daenerys thought back to the story in the bar and felt particularly pathetic, as the entire story had been total fantasy. She considered the ridiculous Elvis picture with intensity. She set it down on an easel, and flipped on her music.  Tonight it was Dave Brubeck - Take Five.

Dany's hands clawed the surface of the canvas. Shards of paint chipped away beneath her fingernails.

Color drained from a section of the canvas as she held it beneath a shower faucet.

A pizza-cutter glided across the painting, slicing it.

Dany blasted a corner of the canvas with her hair dryer.

A spoon from a jam jar splattered the painting.

Dany licked the rest of the jam from the spoon. She considered the destroyed Elvis, decided she has done a sufficient amount of damage for her purposes, turned up the music, and snapped open a toolbox. Inside: brushes, solutions, thread, cotton swabs. A mix between a doctor’s kit and an artist’s. She choose a small swab and began cleaning the painting.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Later that morning. Pop-Art Elvis was fixed: restored to its original ugliness. Daenerys smiled through a yawn. Happy. Fulfilled. She placed Elvis on a ledge amongst other restorations: a giant pastel of an avocado, a watercolor of a whale, a Buddha statue with cracks in its enamel, now glued back together.

Her hanging mobile caught the light pouring in her window, and cast a shadow of a heart on the wall. She smiled at her makeshift sun dial, before realizing something...  Heart... _Oh no_.  She checked the time on her iPhone. Shit! She was late.  Shit shit shit!

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Umbrella overhead, Dany ran across a vast lawn to a grand, sprawling Gothic museum: The Dulwich Picture Gallery. Spires and stone and history. She tapped an electronic keycard to enter.  
  
Inside the Gallery's main hall, there was Cathedral ceilings, vaulted skylights, masterpieces on every wall. Guards, docents, and receptionists began their morning. Dany rushed through the halls. Jorah Mormont, a kind faced older man in a meticulous security guard uniform, passed her.

"Look out. The shrew’s on the prowl."

He winked at Daenerys kindly, and she nodded and continued on. But she was intercepted by Cersei Lannister, forties, broken-in frown, towering stiletto heels. Daenerys nearly squeaked out loud in fear, but settled for "Good morning!"

Cersei slapped a heap of file folders into Dany’s arms. Blueprints, notes. Dany clenched the stack with her chin while Cersei didn't even spare her a glance.  
  
"These go upstairs for approval. Photocopy, file, originals back to me. Don’t bend them, my god. And I’ll take my tea in a quarter hour."

Daenerys forced a smile and readjusted her grasp. At a locked door, she punched in a security code. The door sprang open.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Drilling and hammering as Daenerys entered the museums new wing. Tarps were hung over sheetrock and exposed beams. Plaster dust plumes. She walked past a sign that read: “Don’t mind our appearance. We’re restoring.” The corridor spilled into a vast room. Workers installed light fixtures, moldings. Dany stood in the center for a moment.

"Wow. It looks amazing."

The Foreman glanced up at her, confusion crossing his face.

"What?"

"It looks amazing!"

He shook his head.  He couldn't hear her. She sighed and passed him the blueprints.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In the Main Hall Dany lead different tour groups through the museum: Wearing a docent’s nametag, Daenerys met a group. A mix of fancy retirees, backpackers, and students watched her.

"Hi, everyone. Welcome to the Dulwich Picture Gallery."

She lead the group towards an Ethereal Sculpture. In front of a modern glass piece, Daenerys addressed a gaggle of kids in uniform. A cute young boy, he looked around six, raised his hand.  
  
"What is it?"

Daenerys smiled. "What do you think it is?"  
  
"A witch’s head."  
  
A little girl added to his thought. "A lava ball."

A second little boy scrunched up his face, considering. "Well, um, I... an octopus! Am I right, Miss? Is that right?"

Daenerys smiled sweetly at them. "It’s art. You can see what you want to see. Isn’t that cool?"

The kids started to debate it, loud, rowdy now.

She moved onto the Baroque room. Leading a mix of adults and a couple kids. Daenerys paused by a small portrait of a man: black cloak, white neck cuff.  
  
"Rembrandt’s painting of Jacob de Gheyn the third. One of the smaller of the Dutch Golden Age. Rembrandt was known for capturing dynamic facial expressions in his portraits. Laughter. Anger. Shock." Daenerys found herself lost in the painting for a second. "Oh, and-- it’s been stolen more times than any painting in history."

This sparked everyone’s attention. Daenerys liked this part.  
  
"Jacob’s been taken a total of four times. On New Year’s Eve, 1966, thieves carved out a hole in a side door. Snuck in without setting off a single alarm."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Dulwich Picture Gallery.

1966.

Night.

A drill buzzed, slicing out a small panel of an old door. A very petite male thief squeezed through and into the museum.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Dulwich Picture Gallery.

1973.

Day.  
  
A young man sprinted through the museum with the painting in a plastic grocery store bag. He ran down the steps outside...

"The second time, a kid just grabbed Jacob off the wall and threw him in a plastic bag. In broad daylight."

... And hopped on his bike. He pedaled away, legs pumping.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Back to Daenerys.

"Another time, men dressed as cops came in and stole him in the middle of the day. In 1983..."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

1983.

Night.

Thieves dressed in black face-masks and catsuits climbed a three tiered ladder to reach the roof of the museum.

"... It was a bigger job. Thieves broke open a skylight and rappelled down into the gallery on cables."

One thief sank into the quiet museum on a wire. With a crowbar, he popped the painting off of the wall. The alarm blared, and the hanging thief zipped right up to the roof.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back to Daenerys.  There was muttering amongst the crowd.  
  
"The painting’s been found in some weird places. Under a bench in a graveyard. In a taxi. At an army garrison in Germany. Tied to the back of that bicycle. But he was returned each time."

A lanky boy, around eleven and full of energy, piped up.  
  
"Why’d they give it back?"

"Why do you think they gave it back?"

the boy seemed to consider it for a moment, concentrating. "They didn’t fancy it?"  
  
"No. They abandoned it. The thieves realized it wasn’t worth the risk. You see, you can’t take a priceless painting -- a trophy for thieves -- the most famous stolen painting in the world, and just sell it on the normal art market. It’s too recognizable. Too “hot.” And extorting a museum for ransom money is very complicated. None of these thieves had a plan. Some got caught, some got scared and had to backpedal. So, the painting survived, found its way home again. And that is why we call it “The Takeaway Rembrandt.”

The group buzzed and Daenerys smiled.  She loved riling up peoples imaginations. Suddenly, one husky voice cut through the rest.  
  
"1634, I believe."

"I’m sorry?"

Daenerys glanced around, looking for the source of the voice.  She had to step on her toes to find...

A piercingly handsome young man, wearing sex and confidence like a bullet proof vest. She sized him up: pointed gaze with pouty lips, scruffy-cool appearance with long curly black hair slicked back, and a beard trimmed short. He was both sophisticated and effortless. A paradox.  His brogue was pleasantly husky.  
  
"You said 1632."

She took a moment to collect herself. "That’s right."  
  
"It was commissioned in 1632. Completed in 1634."  
  
"No, it’s 1632. You can check the plaque, here..."

"The tag’s wrong."

He spoke with such command that she paused, finding herself caught off guard. She shook her head.  
  
"I don’t think so. Rembrandt worked fast during this period, and I--"

"You’re saying it’s impossible?"

The handsome stranger turned to the eleven-year-old boy.  
  
"What do you think? Do you believe everything you read?"

The boy shrugged, looking to Daenerys. The stranger glanced at her nametag.

"Daenerys... How about this? Let’s bet. Twenty pounds. We’ll go look it up."

She looked at him. The plaque. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Second guessing herself--  
  
"I guess it could be a mistake..."  
  
"No bet?"

Daenerys shook her head and lead the group down the hall. She glanced over her shoulder at the man. He might have been handsome, but what a jerk.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys left the dispersing tour group, where Cersei caught up and saddled her with a fresh stack of files.  
  
"If you could make an effort not to get your fingers all over these..."

Unbeknownst to her, the stranger watched Dany nod and take the blueprints. When Cersei left, Daenerys secretly made a face behind her back. Dany punched the security code and entered the new wing.

The handsome man smiled to himself, finding Dany funny.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany and Jorah sat on a bench eating sandwiches. Through a window, they looked into the museum’s art restoration area, a sterile room where a restorer tended to a corner of a canvas. A Renoir. She applied solution, dabbed with a cotton swab.  
  
Jorah spoke up. "Why don’t you ask again?"

"They won’t promote me here. It’ll never happen."

She could tell Jorah was searching for something reassuring as this sank in.  
  
"I think I finally have to give up. Move back to Vermont. Call the time of death on the grand European adventure. God. I am such an idiot.

A restorer misted a painting with solution. Daenerys perked up.  
  
"Ooh, ooh. See her? Cleaning that section? Oils collect a lot of particles that can damage the-- oh, man, look, she’s going to have to touch up that water spot. Do you see it? That brown circle?"

Jorah smirked in amusement at Daenery's, who was rapt as the painting came to life.  
  
"She’ll have to go in with a fine brush. Match that aquamarine color."  
  
"Just ask one more time."

Daenerys paused, thinking.  What could another "no" hurt?

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Inside Cersei's office, Daenerys rested a cup of tea onto her bosses desk. A bit of liquid sloshed into the saucer. She pat it with a napkin.  Cersei didn’t notice thankfully. Dany took a deep breathe, psyching herself up.

"While I have you, I was thinking... Wondering... if I could follow up about my progress here."  
  
Cersei merely continued to work, scribbling away.  Daenerys thought so ought to have felt a rush of annoyance, but instead she only felt the further tightening of apprehension as she continued.

"I don’t know if you remember, but I’m very interested in transferring into Restoration. I actually have a Master’s in R&C, and I’d love tohelp with the chemical analysis,  
the dating process, prep..."

Cersei finally looked up at her, squinty-eyed. Daenerys soldiered on. In for a penny...  
  
"I could work up to that, of course. Not trying to run before I can walk, you know, as they say! I could clean paintbrushes. Take notes. Errands. I’d do anything for the opportunity to be around the work, even just to observe--"

"Daenerys."

Cersei set down her pen, softening. Dany brimmed with hope.  
  
"People like your tours. And you know all the workers’ names. I need you where you are. I’ve given you a lot of responsibility, do you not appreciate that?"  
  
"Yes, of course I do--"  
  
"Good."  Then she looked back down... And continued to work.

Daenerys felt crushed. She wanted to protest, she wanted to push and fight for herself. Something.  ANYTHING. But what was the point? She knew Cersei.  

She knew she lost.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Later that evening Daenerys found herself in the Covent Garden Pub, for pub quiz night. She huddled with Missandei, mature, darkskinned, and Renly, impeccable, drinking £2 beers. The M.C. held up a bottle of Gordon's Gin for all to see.  
  
"The winning team will be going home with this saucy mistress, which retails at Sainsbury’s for 7.99."

Daenerys stared at it, eyes burning with focus. All the day’s disappointment poured into this moment.  
  
"It’s ours."

Missandei clinked her glass with Dany's.  
  
"Will it be our reigning champions or these upstart new challengers?"

Renly turned to the challengers, a table of banker guys in suits.  
  
"You got something to say? You’ve got something to say about it?!"

The banker guys had nothing to say about it.

The M.C. continued. "Your sudden death question..."

Renly, Missandei and Dany did their complicated good luck ritual: table pounding, slapping five, handshakes.  
  
"When creating the famous Mona Lisa, painter Leonardo Da Vinci spent 12 hours on which part of his muse?"

Daenerys smiled, she had this. She looked over as the bankers conferred.  
  
"It’s her lips. Everyone thinks it’s her eyes, but I’m 100% positive."

Missandei and Renly, trusting without hesitation, pushed her up.  
  
"The lips!"  
  
The M.C. pointed. "We have a winner!"

The pub went WILD. The M.C. held up Dany's arm like a boxer’s. Renly, Dany and Missandei celebrated, victorious!

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Outside on the street, Daenerys held their prized gin like a baby in her arms. Missy and Renly walked Dany to the mouth of the subway, laughing.  
  
"What if we did something crazy this weekend? Let’s take the chunnel to Paris for a night!"

"I wish I could. Loras has got a work party, it’s a whole thing."  
  
Missandei added. "I’m buried. Brief to write. You should do it, though! Go alone, have some fun."  
  
"No. I can’t afford it anyway. I don’t know what I was saying..."

They reached the tube.  
  
"Okay, I better go. You guys take this. Pour one out for me, or whatever you do for miserable souls who have internships at age 27."

Missandei pushed the bottle back into Dany’s hands.  
  
"No, you keep it. You deserve it."

Dany smiled. She couldn't argue with that.


	2. The Job

Back in the Dulwich Picture Gallery the next evening, Daenerys, hair up and in that same sale-rack dress, this time with cut-out tights, heels, and a thrift-store brooch-turned necklace, sat behind a reception table lined with name tags.

Glamorous Brits trickled in, checked their coats, and signed in. Daenerys hungrily eyed a tray of canapes gliding by, for guests only. Jorah, in his uniform, stood watch over the gallery.

A group of gorgeous, laughing people sauntered in. Daenerys smiled. The guests found their name tags. Daenerys froze for a moment. Amongst them was...  The handsome stranger from the tour.  
  
He smiled at her warmly. "Oh, hello."

Of course Dany remembered him instantly, but pretended not to. "Hi."  
  
"You’re the tour guide."

He unknotted his scarf. His custom suit was... Perfect. He untucked a corner of his shirt to clean his thick-rimmed glasses. Daenerys glimpsed a taught strip of flesh, just for a second.  
  
"That’s right."

He scanned the name tags. His hand danced over the options.  
  
"Dr. Carleton Montgomery? Sounds like a stiff, don’t you think? I don’t want to be boring. Allastair Bradford. Prep school kid who needs his ass kicked."

Daenerys watched him, quiet, as he chose another.  
  
"Sir Hans Berg. Don’t think I’ll ever be knighted. Maybe tonight’s my knight? Do you like word jokes? I don’t, typically, but that seemed a good opportunity, so I took it."

Daenerys frowned. She honestly couldn't tell if he was flirting or if he was insane.  
  
"I’m sorry. Do you not have a ticket to this party?"

He laughed. Suddenly Cersei rushed over and grabbed him by the arm.  
  
"Mr. Snow! We’ve been waiting."

Mr. Snow smiled over his shoulder as Cersei whisked him away. As soon as he looked away Daenerys frantically beckoned to Jorah, and he crossed to her.  
  
"Who’s that guy?"  
  
"Jon Snow. Big-time art dealer. He helped pay for the new wing."  
  
"Oh. Well. He’s also an arrogant asshole."  
  
Across, Jon Snow held court with Cersei and some critic types. When she looked up, she accidentally caught his gaze. She just about felt herself swoon. The reality was, he was an extremely attractive arrogant asshole.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Only a couple of nametags remained. Daenerys touched JON SNOW'S. She picked it up. Then put it down, catching herself. She watched him, enjoying the party with his friends. With a sudden burst of courage, she marchec over to him.  
  
"You were wrong about the date."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"On my tour, when you felt the need to correct me. You can look it up if you want, I just did. I’m right."  
  
"Then I’m terribly sorry."

He seemed to mean it, and that surprised her.  Still... She held her nose up high.  
  
"I’m here to collect on the bet."  
  
"You didn’t take the bet."  
  
"Yes. That is true. I just thought maybe you’d appreciate the chance to redeem yourself. As a gentleman."  
  
"I look like a gentleman, huh? Tell me something. Why did you question yourself, on the tour?"

Jon pulled out his wallet and thumbed through.

"I don’t. I didn’t."  
  
"You should be more aggressive."

He produced a twenty. Daenerys decided to take his advice:  
  
"The bet was fifty."

"It was twenty."  
  
"Fifty. And... Would you please steal me a canape. I’m starving..."

She could tell he knew she was hosing him. He set down a fifty. She took it.  
  
"I like you."

Daenerys paused. "What?"  
  
"Why don’t you stay?"

"I can’t, I have to work. I’m supposed to be over there." She turned back to the reception table.  
  
"Sometimes in life, you can’t worry about ‘can’t,’ you just have to join the party."  
  
"Wow. You should embroider that on a pillow."  She turned to leave. "Things like that only sound good because of your accent."  
  
He smiled at her. "Does sound good though, doesn’t it?"

Fuck. It did sound good...  Stupid Jon Snow.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys somehow found herself wandering through the museum, drinking champagne with this "Jon Snow".  Dany balanced a little plate, eagerly eating canapes.  
  
Jon turned to her. "So you’re moving home. What about restoring art?"  
  
"I don’t know. We’ll see."  
  
"You’re giving up?"

Daenerys winced.  Something about that coming out of the mouth of this handsome stranger made it sting that much worse.  
  
"It’s not giving up if you’ve tried everything."  
  
Jon scrunched his brow and seemed to think about that.  "If you don’t want the answer to be no, don’t take no for an answer."

She snorted with laughter, sort of annoyed and delighted by him at once.  
  
"Oh, no. You are one of those people! Do you send positive energy into the universe when you’re hoping for the 57 bus to come?"

"I don’t take the bus."  
  
"Right, why would you?! You’re... Rich. Successful. Posh. Handsome..." She trailed off and didn't finish the thought...  
  
"I’m a lot of things. So are you, I can tell. But I’m serious. You’re in charge of getting what you want."  
  
"Another for the pillow collection! It’s fun to dream that life is like that. I wish... But it’s a fantasy."

They paused before a highly realistic painting of a girl sticking her nose in a deep glass of wine.  
  
Daenerys observed the painting. "Hmmm... “Woman Drinking Wine.” Baroque. It’s moving to your new wing."  
  
"Let’s go see it."  She looked to him,confused. "The new wing."  
  
"Oh, it’s not finished."  
  
"You can show me, can’t you?"

"Sorry. The whole construction area’s sectioned off."  
  
A slow Cheshire grin grew on his face.  Mischievous. "Let’s sneak in."  
  
"We can’t."  
  
"Come on. I paid enough for it, I want to see. It’ll be fun."

She shouldn't.  She KNEW she shouldn't.  She could lose her job.  But something about his warm dark eyes were breaking her down... Daenerys peered down the hall, away from the party. A guard rounded a corner, and disappeared. Jorah was preoccupied talking to a guest.  
  
"Okay, let’s go fast."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Dany punched the security code in the door. It opened, and she and Jon slipped into the dark, barren space. It was quiet. Sacred. She flicked on the light. The hardwood flooring was half set, exposed beams running across the ceiling. Dust. Scattered tools.  
  
"Where will everything go?" Jon's voice echoed. Dany showed him as though it was another tour.  
  
"They’re putting some Rembrandts here, the Vermeers over on the south wall. Jacob de Gheyn, there." She crossed to the other side. "But I would’ve put him here. With the natural light, it’d be perfect."

Jon stood beside her, looking at the empty wall. Their shoulders touched. He extended his fingers, brushing her hand. Unintentionally? Dany’s pricked with excitement.  
  
"I have a question."  
  
She held her breath, waiting. He turned to face her.  
  
"In my line of work, I acquire a lot of art that needs maintenance. I’ll buy pieces that require attention before I can sell them again, and sometimes my buyers look to me to help keep their collections in perfect condition. I usually go through Hamilton & Perry, but they’re too expensive and I want better quality control. No one wants to take a chance with a seven million dollar Picasso. So, I need someone to work directly for me. Exclusively for me."  
  
"A restorer?"  
  
He nodded. "You should interview for the position."  Her stomach felt like it just fell through the floor.  What?  Why?  How? ...  What?

He handed her his business card. Stark, with tiny printing. The card was as absurdly stylish as he was.  
  
"Tomorrow, 3 p.m."

"Mr. Snow?" Daenerys flinched.  Cersei.  Oh God. They turned to see her in the doorway.  
  
"I wanted you to meet someone."  
  
"Oh, of course."

He handed his champagne glass to Dany. Cersei shot them a look--  
  
"I asked your lovely docent here to show me around."

They left Dany there -- two champagne glasses in one hand, Jon’s business card in the other -- wondering what just happened.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys rode up in a Taxi cab practically bouncing out of her skin in excitement. The area was stately. Rich. Belgravia. She peered out the window in awe.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jon Snow's home was a tall, posh building: pillars and manicured trees. Dany was dressed up for her interview in her nicest skirt and a white silk top. She walked up the steps. A gold placard above the buzzer read: SNOW. This entire massive place was Jon's. Dany checked her reflection in the shiny gold doorknocker, then rang the bell. An older man, professorial and with a warm smile, answered.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The house was a palatial space. Cool, modern decor mixed with classical architecture. Paintings were on every wall, sculptures around each corner. A Cezanne, a Warhol. Daenerys fought the urge to gawk.  
  
"I’m Davos, Jon's associate."

He walked fast and didn't turn around to shake her hand.  
  
"Nice to meet you. Daenerys Targaryen."

She spotted one painting and balked. Davos looked back and caught her staring, open-mouthed. She tried to recover.  
  
"Oh, I love Gauguin."

He smiled and lead her to what appeared to be a study. A trendy twist on an old smoking room, with wrap-around shelves full of books and art. But no Jon Snow. In the center of the room was an easel with a canvas. On the easel: was a colorful portrait of a woman’s face. Staggering use of light, more whimsical than realistic in feeling.  
  
"Tools are in the cabinet to your left. Washes just below."

The painting was torn on one side. Cracks in the paint spread.

"I’m sorry?"

Davos fanned open the doors to a built in cabinet: it was full of restoration tools. Brushes, solutions, chemicals.  
  
"Here’s a list of the pigments used. You’ve eight hours."  
  
Daenerys glanced around, confused. "I’m not sure I understand."  
  
"To restore it."

Daenerys was shocked. She looked from him to the painting. She froze for a moment, then pulled off her coat. Determined.

It was a test.

She put on a pair of goggles. Pulled gloves over her shaky hands.

She gingerly removed the painting from its frame and laid it on a table, atop another, stabilizing liner.

With a wide brush, she applied a solution to the surface of the painting. She painted slowly, hardly breathing, determined to be gentle enough not to disturb the surface of the canvas.

She set a sheet of paper on top of the wax-coated canvas.

Day became night. Dany threw her hair up in a bun. Hunched over the table, she mixed paint colors on a palate.

She peeled the paper from the canvas. It collected most of the wax; the rest was left in the valleys of the torn canvas.

The woman’s cheek, once torn, now appeared to have white cracks across it. This is where Dany transitioned from scientist to artist. She painted. Careful, slow, precise.

Daenerys stood back, arms crossed, and looked at the painting.

The woman was complete, void of any lines or cracks.  
  
"Finished?"

Davos appeared and studied her work, judgemental.  
  
"Is Jon going to look, or...?"  She tried not to sound too excited by the prospect.  
  
"He’s busy."

"Oh..."  She felt herself deflate a bit.

Davos snapped a photo of the painting with his iPhone. Dany’s eyes flicked from Davos’s face to the painting, searching for any indication of success. But there was nothing.

Suddenly, his phone rang and he answered immediately. Daenerys cracked her knuckles. She waited. Hopeful. Petrified.  
  
"Jon... Okay. Okay... Yes."

He hung up and turned to Daenerys.  
  
"Thank you for your time."

She waited for more, but... That was it. He texted on his phone.  
  
"The car will take you home."

Daenerys pulled on her coat. She looked down and saw her nice white top was speckled with paint. Fighting tears, she left

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Inside her flat, Dany held that silk top under the faucet. She scrubbed. Hard. Finally she dropped the sopping blouse into the sink. She poured a shot of the pub quiz gin. Downed it. She grimaced. She took a deep breath, gathering her resolve, and took her phone.  
  
"Hi, Mom. What’re you up to?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Oh, you’re going to laugh. We’re hanging the picture, the Van Gogh. I know. We’re provincial, we’re cliche. But we love it."

Daenerys smiled. "The poster? From the gift shop?"

"We got it framed. We were headed out to the mall and I thought, they have a Michael’s, let’s do this right. It really looks great. And... it reminds us of you. Everything you’re up to."  
  
"You guys aren’t provincial. Or cliche. I miss you a lot."

Dany's voice cracked. She could tell her Mom heard it, and she went into pep-talk mode.  
  
"We miss you, honey. But we’re so proud that you’re over there--"

"You know, that’s sort of why I called. Things here have become--"

"Tip it up, sweetie, a little more!"  Her mother was clearly explaining to her husband how to fix the painting.  
  
"This is hard, Mom..."

Suddenly Dany's intercom buzzed. She startled. She covered her phone with her hand and pressed the button to answer.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Come downstairs." Dany was shocked when she placed the voice. It was Jon.  
  
"Mom, I have to call you back."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

A Rolls Royce waited at the curb. Dany stepped outside as Jon, in a tuxedo, opened the car’s door. She almost whimpered out loud.  He looked exactly like Bond.  He looked YUMMY.  
  
"Hurry. We’ll be late."

Daenerys hesitated. She looked at his tux, then down at her white t-shirt and holey Levis, her old leather jacket...  
  
"You’re perfect. Come on."  
  
He beckoned, serious. Daenerys was confused but charmed as she considered.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

An auction house. Dealers and Wealthy Buyers toted numbered paddles. Brokers barked into phones. Dany and Jon had front row seats. Anticipation rippled as the auctioneer returned to the stage. It was glamorous and exciting, but Daenerys looked around, wondering what they were doing here. Was this a date?  Dare she dream?  
  
"Did you ever look at my work?"

But he was engrossed in his iPhone. Dany, tense, watched as an elevated section of the stage swiveled, revealing the next item on the block, behind a wall. It’s was a painting. It was small, a portrait in a gold frame. Dany leaned forward, realizing... It was the painting of the woman she restored.

"We’ll start the bidding at 175,000. Do I hear 175? 175 do I hear 200? 225? 225 from number 57 in the back. Do I hear 250? I see 250."

She was shocked. The moment was electric. Maybe the best in her life.  
  
"Oh my god..." Her heart pounded in her chest, like thunder.  This wasn't real.

Jon reached down and grabbed her hand. She squeezed back.  
  
"Going once, going twice. And... Sold to number 28 in the back corner for 250,000 pounds."

Her mouth fell open.  Dumbfounded.  Flabbergasted.

She felt Jon Snow lean in close and whisper huskily into her ear. "I think you got the job."

She shivered  speechless, exhilarated beyond words. This was a dream.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jon lead Daenerys down the foggy sidewalk. She mumbled, half talking to him, half to herself, as she processed this.  
  
"What if I had screwed it up?"  
  
"Some people just have it. You have it. I could tell."  
  
"Thank you. This is crazy."

Their eyes locked. She felt a charged moment between them.  
  
"Plus, it was only 250k. You’ll handle much more valuable pieces."

Daenerys balked. Jon opened a door beneath a scalloped awning.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Inside was a posh restaurant. Jon led Dany to a private party in the back room -- a converted bank vault. A giant circular door with a wheel lock, thick mahogany tables, ice sculptures piled with oysters, the pop pop of champagne.

Jon introduced Dany to Gendry, who was around Jon's age and tattooed.  
  
"Gendry’s in charge of operations. He was a Formula 1 man when we snatched him up."  
  
"Wow, really?"  
  
He smirked. "Before I found Jon's finishing school for derelict art lovers."  
  
Jon scoffed. "We’re still working on his manners, apparently..."

He pulled Daenerys over to Davos, who was speaking to some guests.

"Davos you’ve met. My research consultant, organizational mastermind, my number two."  
  
"Yes. Hello again."  He smiled that warm fatherly smile that Dany found she liked.  
  
"Davos, thank you so much. I want you to know, I’m just so grateful for the opportunity to work with you. So... Thanks."

He nodded. Jon lifted his glass in a toast.

As he did, his watch glinted -- Dany noticed his beautiful Rolex had a cracked face.  
  
"Let’s raise a glass. To brilliant, resourceful, lovely Daenerys."

There were “Hear, hears”s and applause. It was incredibly bizarre. And also wonderful. Dany’s glass knocked against Jon's.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The party had dwindled. Dany and the guys sat in armchairs.  
  
Gendry inquired. "Did you ever want to become a real painter?"  
  
"I like to think I am."  
  
Davos tried to clarify. "He means an artist. Not a restorer."  
  
"I like old things. I’ve always loved the idea of working on something that had been around for hundreds of years, something that would be around for hundreds more."

Davos nodded. "Something permanent."  
  
"Exactly. Permanence. And becoming good enough to work on a Cezanne or a Chagall or a Vermeer, my god. To me, that was always the goal. I figure I could aim for that, instead of, I don’t know, selling my oil paintings at coffeehouses."  
  
Davos nodded in understanding. "You’re ambitious."  
  
"Yeah. Of course."

As she spoke, she could feel Jon's eyes on her. Davos appeared to clock the energy between herself and Jon. She could have sworn he looked a little displeased for a brief moment--  Maybe it was her imagination.  
  
Davos continued. "How are your skills at dating pigments and techniques?"  
  
"They’re good."  
  
"Anything you can’t repair?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Grease damage? A burn? Acid?"

Daenerys felt she was being tested.  Knowing Jon was watching, she refused to be intimidated.

"Yes. Yes. And what kind of acid?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The hired car wound down a street blanketed in early morning haze. Jon and Dany, drunk on champagne and scotch and the insanity of the night, rode in the back, looking out their windows. Daenerys giggled.  She felt warm and happy and content. He passed her an envelope. She peeked -- it was thick with cash.  
  
"5%. That work for you?"

She gaped. Catching herself. Tried to act professional. But her fuzzy brain couldn't help but panic.  _Five percent?  Did he mean of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds?!  That was...  Over Twelve thousand pounds._  
  
"Couldn’t come at a better time."

A silence. Jon gazed at her, then out his window. Cooly--  
  
"Is there a boyfriend?"

Daenerys smirked, pleased that he would be so direct. "I don’t like distractions." She replied wryly.  
  
"Of course. You’re in love with your work. That’s why you’re so good." She stole a quick glance at him.

"What about the Dulwich?"  
  
"Not so much that."  
  
"It’s a good job, though. Prestigious place. Got your ear to the ground of the museum world..."  
  
"And I cannot wait to quit."  
  
"I was going to ask you about that."  
  
"What?"  
  
"With my relationships there, I’m a little nervous. I don’t want them to come after me for poaching you."  
  
"I don’t think they’ll miss me."  
  
"Perhaps cut back, but don’t quit just yet. Let me figure out the politics of it all first."  
  
She nodded. "Okay."

The car arrived at her building. She wasn't sure whether to shake hands, to hug, or to let herself out. Jon leaned in.  
  
She smiled at him. "Thank you for everything."  
  
"Thank you." He insisted.

He kissed her cheek. Then lingered. When he moved to kiss her other cheek, Daenerys tipped her head and caught his mouth by accident.  
  
"Oh my god, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. Sorry."

She was halfway out the door, but Jon was unfazed.  
  
"You’re always apologizing."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Even when you’re not sorry. You’re a phony apologizer."

Jon hovered there, challenging. His lips curved into a smile.  
  
Her face collapsed into an amused sneer. "No, I’m not."  
  
"Then you’re sorry?"  
  
"Yes."  She stated proudly, turning her nose up at him haughtily.  He moved closer to her...  
  
"You regret it?"

She drew her face to his...  
  
"I guess I’m not sure."

Just as he was about to kiss her, she pulled back. He was left hanging, and she laughed. He couldn't help but smile.  
  
"Oh, now I’m really sorry."  
  
"Fine. Apology accepted."

He moved away. Daenerys hesitated. He looked so absurdly good in that tailored tux... She decided to go for it. She kissed him. It was spontaneous and intentional and hard and soft all at once. She could tell by his body language he didn’t know she had it in her. Neither did she honestly.

She pulled away from him and slipped out of the car, feeling like she ran the fucking world.


	3. Lust

Dressed for her first day of work, Daenerys quietly entered and walked down the hall, full of nerves and sober regret. No one appeared to be home, so she moved down the hall to the study...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Jon’s study had been completely transformed into a workspace. A couple large tables filled the center of the room. On a desk: a microscope with a feed to a large flat-screen computer monitor. And the tools: chemicals, brushes, paint. It was a laboratory. And an artist’s heaven. A Shangri-La.

Dany absorbed it all. She had brought her own battered toolbox, but she tucked it out of sight, under a table. When she looked back, Jon was standing there.  
  
"Oh, I thought I’d bring tools just in case, but, obviously, never mind."

Jon opened his mouth to speak, but--  
  
"I am mortified. I can’t apologize enough. Last night, that was not me. I’m here to work and this is my dream job and I will do nothing to disrupt that. If you’re okay being professional, so am I."

There’s a part of her that disagrees, but she buried it.  For a fraction of a second she thought she read a hint of sadness on his face, but it was gone too fast to register.  
  
"Of course."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Daenerys wore gloves and a white coat as Jon showed her a painting stretched and blocked over an easel. It was faded and marred with brown clouds of damage. But below the damage: dots of paint. Pointillism. Barely discernible.  
  
"I’ll start researching. Pointillism needs to be so precise."  
  
Jon nodded. "I want it in a week."  
  
"Sorry... That’s just not possible."  
  
Jon raised an eyebrow at ‘sorry.’  
  
"Okay. You’re right. I am not sorry. But that’s not how I work. This has to be meticulous, precise. You wouldn’t want me to do a rush job on this incredible piece."  
  
"Get it done right. Get it done fast. You have one week."

He turned and was suddenly gone. Dany was left, miffed at his curtness. Resolved, she slid on a pair of gloves.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany clamped the pointillist painting to her workbench.

One tiny section at a time, she applied solution. She blotted each blemish with a swab, cleaning it.

Dany made a phone call as she pored over books. She thumbed through the pages of “A Pointillist’s Toolkit.”  
  
"Janine? Yes. No... Actually, you’re not going to believe it. I’d like to set up payments on my account."

Under a special light, Dany inspected some moisture damage. She cringed, cooing to the painting like it was a baby animal.  
  
"Oh, what happened to you?"

Over time, the film of grime and damage faded, and beneath, flecks of color, dots of the paintbrush, became clear. Jon walked by the door. She didn't notice his longing look.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany, looking exhausted but satisfied, checked into work.  
  
"The water boiler not working?" Cersei asked, seeming annoyed.  
  
"No, it is, I think."  
  
"Then are the tea bags not working?"

Dany bit back the urge to react, forced a smile instead.  
  
"I’ll make you a fresh cup."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

She mixed pigments with a mortar and pestel. She straightened when Jon lead a man she didn't know into her studio.  He appeared to be in his thirties, with an ice cold gaze and the kind of entitled confidence only money could buy.  The man had an entourage of two beefy imposing men silently trailing him.   
  
"Right in here."

The man's eyes scanned each painting on the walls.  
  
"This is Daenerys, our obscenely talented restorer."

The man tipped his head, but he was focused on a piece nearby. A Jackson Pollock. Ribbons of paint streaked across canvas.  
  
"How’d you wrangle this one, Snow?"  
  
"Isn’t there something about it? It’s seductive without being garish. No novelty. If you like it, fine, if you hate it, fine. It’s not trying to please you. It isn’t beautiful by design, or for anyone’s enjoyment. It just is."

Dany listened. The man was poker-faced. Jon pressed on.  
  
"So much green in this corner. You think it would upset the eye. But instead, it’s just this incredible, bold, ‘fuck you,’ because it works."

"I don’t need it."  
  
"But you want it. And it’s here, within reach. Why deprive yourself? Where’s the joy in that? Every day it spends here is a tragedy. In two hours, you could be having a Scotch in your den, looking at this, thinking, “that’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.”  
  
"My breakfast room."

Jon caught Dany’s eye, just as the man broke.  
  
"Fine, Snow. Pack it up."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany slid the painting under the microscope, magnifying it on a flat screen monitor. Jon entered and she sprang up.  
  
"Don’t let me interrupt."  
  
"You were great about the use of green."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Sorry, I mean you were right about the use of green. Also you were great. Which I’m sure you know."

He hung onto the eye contact for a moment.  
  
"There’s a party tonight. Lots of art people. Would you like to come?"

Before she could object--  
  
"Strictly professional. I promise."  
  
"Right. Okay. Thank you."  
  
"It’s black tie. So take the car. Go shopping."

He couldn't be serious...  
  
"Go. Call your friends. Have fun."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany, Renly and Misst picked through the shimmery racks of the Botique--  
  
"Dany, this one!"

She revealed a red strapless dress, draped at the top.  
  
"Oh, wow. It’s gorgeous. But no."  
  
"You’re kidding."  
  
"That’s a vintage Dior. I don’t even have to look. I can’t afford it."  
  
"You earned it. You’re making real money now. Renly, help me out."

Renly ate chocolate truffles from a tray. A hip salesgirl topped off his glass of champagne. He was clearly in heaven.  
  
"That. With your tits. Don’t be stupid. Just try it on."

Dany, mortified at ‘tits,’ looked to the salegirl, who was nonplussed. Missy pushed Dany into the dressing room.  
  
Renly continued, his mouth full. "Especially if you’re trying to sleep with this guy."

Dany froze, silent for a moment.

"I am not. That is not what this is."

Inside the dressing room, Dany peeled off her sweater, slipping out of her leggings.  
  
"This is my work. My life’s work. I would never let that kind of thing get in the way. Plus, he’s a snob, and he’s impulsive. Temperamental. A know-it-all. Even if he is smart and charming and, yes, obviously, attractive, I still wouldn’t jeopardize my career for that. And he would never want... That... With me either, anyway, I’m sure."  
  
Dany stepped out. She was striking. Renly cheered. Missy grinned. Renly jumped up and dragged her over to the mirror, but first pulled her hair out of its messy bun. The dress was made for her.  
  
Missy squealed. "You’re blonde Audrey Hepburn."  
  
"With student loans." Dany added bitterly.

Missy peeked at the tag, then cringed. Just as Dany had suspected.  Not possible.  Then, from across the shop the Sales girl spoke up--  
  
"Oh. Your bill’s been taken care of."  
  
"What? No, that can’t be..."

"You’re to have whatever you want. All of you."

Renly, Missy, and Dany shared a glance.  
  
Renly scoffed. "Right. He definitely doesn’t want to sleep with you."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany, Missy and Renly burst out of the store, laughing. Dany was draped in shopping bags. They all wore fabulous hats.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

A mansions conservatory. A sleek space filled with stunning people. $2000 heels clicked on Italian marble, a spired glass roof overhead, art on every wall. A Jazz band played. A typical party for this set. Dany, hair down, looking killer in her dress, talked to Gendry aside.  
  
"He bought a Pollock today."

Across the room, she indicated the rich man from earlier, rapt in conversation with Jon and Davos.  
  
Gendry nodded. "That’s Roose Bolton. Inherited Daddy’s private equity billions a few years ago. Now apparently he’s part of some contemporary Illuminati club, some Phi-Beta-Blue Blood powerhungry bullshit.  
  
"Really? What do they do?"  
  
"Those creepy snobs? I don’t know. Steal away and talk about culture while eating caviar off crystal? Well. He commissions a lot from us, so Jon’s gotta kiss the ring."  
  
Daenerys considered that for a moment. "What do you mean ‘commissions’?"

Gendry took a sip of his drink, ignoring the question.  
  
"That was pretty ballsy, how you told him off."  
  
"What? Jon thinks I told him off? That’s... Wow. What did he say? Tell me everything he said."  
  
"He said that he thinks you’re brilliant and sexy and perfect. And you told him to fuck off?"

She absorbed all of this, completely surprised.  
  
"That’s not what happened. I just didn’t want to screw up everything."  
  
"Probably wouldn’t work out, anyway."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Jon’s complicated. You’d try to fix him. He hates that."  
  
"I would never try to fix him."  
  
"Ah. So you do fancy him, then."

Dany shook her head, caught. She tried (and failed) to hide a smile.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jon stood with Davos and Bolton as a waiter brought champagne. Jon couldn't help but notice Dany across the room. She looked stunning...  
  
Bolton spoke up, grabbing his focus. "How’s everything on your end, given the timeline?"  
  
"We’re on track. It’s better we don’t talk strategy in detail, but--"

Davos pitched in. "It’s a development process, and--"  
  
"So we agree, then. Three months."  
  
Jon considered. "Four. Let’s say four." He tried to hide the note of tension in his voice. Bolton held his gaze.  
  
"Fine. Four."

Bolton clapped Jon's shoulder, which rattled Davos. Jon cracked a smile and motioned to the waiter for another round.  
  
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys plucked a flute of champagne from a server’s tray. Another. The server watched as she quickly guzzled three. Dany gulped her last sip as she beelined to Jon. She motioned for him to follow her. She lead him to... a walk-in-closet.  
  
"Look!"

She flicked on the light to reveal a small Picasso painting.  
  
"It’s authentic, I checked. A blue period Picasso. In their closet."  
  
"Probably an investment piece."  
  
"But I mean, come on. What a waste. People would kill to have a painting like this, and look at it, it’s hidden away with the shoes nobody wears anymore! You know my parents have a Van Gogh print over the mantle in their living room?"

She caught herself nervously rambling, but couldn't stop...  
  
"It’s actually a poster. Framed. You probably think that’s pathetic, a poster from a museum gift shop."  
  
He looked bemused by her. "I don’t think that at all."

He turned to leave. Dany closed her eyes, gathering courage.  
  
"I only said no to you before because I thought it would be bad, or dangerous, I don’t know!"

He stopped. Listening. Then bit back a smile. She took that as a sign and soldiered on. Maybe she was making a terrible mistake, but...  
  
"I want this job. I want you. I want everything."  
  
She kissed him. Pushed his back against the wall. It felt like a knob that was stuck had been twisted, opened.  
  
"Fuck me before I change my mind."

Jon's eyes widened comically for a moment before they smoldered with absolute lust. Dany pressed into him with ferocity. Feeling his weight against her... Tracing the muscles under his jacket... He touched her face, filled his hands with her long hair. He picked her up, bit her neck, kissed her chin. Holding her. She reached down and locked the door, shaking with excitement. She stretched one leg over his shoulder and he kissed her ankle, her calf, hungry...  She reached down and brazenly rubbed his crotch, causing him to hiss into her ear.

She smirked at her effect on him, only to be quickly silenced as he returned the favor, gliding his hand down her stomach and into her panties, gliding over his glistening folds and causing her to gasp in delight. She reached down and helped him shimmy her panties down, while at the same time trying to manage his belt and pull down his boxers.  She was so overwhelmed with lust that she felt drunk.  She couldn't remember ever feeling so horny before.  She had one basic need left in all of the world, and as he finally hoisted her up and gently sat her down onto him she moaned into his ear in relief. 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Outside the door, party guests were close by, just in the hall. Loud obvious thumping emitted from the closet. A feminine scream of bliss and masculine grunts of effort echoed from inside the door. One guest turned around, scandalized.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany put her hand over her mouth to try to muffle her cries. Then, voices and footsteps. Just outside the door. They froze.  
  
But she didn't want him to freeze.  She was so close, the thought of stopping now nearly made her burst into tears. "Keep going." She demanded into his ear.

He did. They locked eyes, complicit in this amazing moment and as he smiled at her with that genuinely sincere lopsided grin, she came HARD. She closed her eyes and saw stars as she panted and moaned and whispered nonsense into his ear as she felt herself spasm around his cock.  He pumped into her aggressively a few more times before growling and cursing loudly, now entirely ignoring any attempts at subtlety. She beamed in pleasure, high off of her own orgasm as she felt his warm semen flooding into her in spurts and pulses.

She pulled his head down into her sweaty chest, hugging him tightly as their thundering heart beats began to slow...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany woke up in bed with Jon, tangled in her sheets. She smiled up at him from where she was resting on his chest. Her mobile cast a shadow of a bird on her wall...  
  
"What is that?"  
  
She smiled. "It’s a sundial I made. It works... Sort of. A bird means it’s 9ish."

His eyes turned to her ledge of “restorations.”  
  
"Whoa. How much for Elvis?"

She buried her face in his neck, embarrassed.  
  
"I’m serious."  
  
"You’re making fun of me!"  
  
"I am absolutely not.  He's the King."  
  
"What, are you moved by the color scheme? The use of texture?"

He reached over to the nightstand for his wallet.  
  
"It’s sexy."  
  
"Elvis?"  
  
"You. Your passion. All of this."  
  
"Oh, man. Elvis, really?"

He turned to her, sincere. He was being genuinely serious, she realized. She was touched.  
  
"I love it."

Shaking her head, Dany climbed out of bed. She crossed the room and carefully lifted Elvis off the wall. Handed it to Jon.  
  
"Gratis."  
  
"Thank you."

Dany turned, but Jon pulled her back into bed. He rolled over her and smiled down at her lovingly.  She felt something flutter dangerously in her chest as he sat there, admiring her with that... Damned look on his face.  If earlier had been the greedy lust, this was something different.  
  
"I’d like to take you out properly tonight. Is that all right?"

She nodded yes.


	4. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter theme song
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWD7k6TrJ-g

Daenerys was back to work. Books splayed open, she read on pointillism. On her computer was a slideshow of pointillist paintings.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
A quiet British town. Charming shop-lined streets. Tourists. The Rolls-Royce pulled over in a cobble-stoned alley.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

An older electrician adjusted a switchboard by a phone pole. Davos, wearing a trench coat, stood, watching his work.  
  
"This cable here, correct?"

Davos slid a little router, a plastic clip, over one of the cables in the box. He handed the electrician a thick envelope.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In a little alley behind a cluster of shops, Gendry reached a particular basement window-well. The sill was marked in chalk. He attached a small device to the windowpane, and continued on.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Inside a gallery. There was walls full of antique art. It was small, a bit cluttered, but well-lit: a lush, longtime place of business. A bell dinged. Jon walked in. A pretty Sales Girl noticed him.  
  
"Good morning."

Jon flashed a smile. She watched him as he wandered, slow, looking at the collection. Jon waited another moment, then:  
  
"Di Rosa, is that right? Or no? I’m a total neophyte. Just getting into all this."  
  
"It’s Combas, a contemporary of his. Good eye. We’ve got some Di Rosa’s over here. Want to follow me?"

"Only if you’re willing to be patient. Take it slow?"

Jon glanced down at his watch.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In the backseat of the Rolls Royce, Davos’s laptop was open to an atomic clock. Gendry sat beside him, holding a burner cell phone.

Davos signaled. "Now."

Gendry hit a button on the burner phone.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In the alley, the device affixed to the window -- a little bomb -- exploded with a BANG! It shattered the glass of the window.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The salesgirl shouted, startled at the sound. Jon jumped.  
  
The salesgirl spun. "What was that?"  
  
"I don’t know. It sounds like... Someone... Do you have a basement?"

She nodded. Concerned, she moved toward the back of the shop.  
  
Jon stopped her. "No. Wait. I’ll go."  
  
"No! What if it’s dangerous?"  
  
Jon made a show of considering this. "Fine, let’s call the police. I’ll stay here with you."

She picked up her phone and dialed.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

in the Royce, Davos’s Google phone rang on his laptop. Gendry hooted, excited. Davos shot him a look, and he quieted down.  
  
Davos answered the call. "What’s your emergency?"  
  
"Hi, yes, send an officer to 213 Standish Road. I’m afraid someone’s breaking in."

Gendry played with a baseball in his hands, full of energy.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys was hard at work in Jon's study. Click. Click. Click. Dany clicked through a slideshow of Pointillist paintings on her computer screen. She suddenly stopped, landing on something. She perked up. She looked over at the pointillist painting she was restoring.

Then back to the computer screen. She squinted at the screen.

On the screen a banner read, “Our permanent collection.”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back in the Gallery basement, Two police officers entered the gallery with authority. Jon and the salesgirl looked relieved. Beneath the badges, the uniforms, the hats... Were Gendry and Davos.

The salesgirl smiled with relief. "Thanks for coming so quickly--"  
  
Gendry nodded to her. "Stay up here, both of you, and we’ll check out the downstairs."

She nodded, rubbing her forehead as they went downstairs.

Gendry and Davos crept down the steps into the basement, the storage section of the gallery. They began searching. Moving fast, they thumbed through boxes and hanging artwork. Tearing through racks.Gendry wiped sweat from his forehead.  
  
"Over here!" Davos beckoned Gendry over.  He had found it: a stack of abstract sketches.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany poised a brush over the pointillism. With quick, precise strokes, she painted, dotting a section in vibrant color. While the rest was dulled and faded, Daenery’s corner was alive. She painted faster. Staccato flicks of brush against canvas. She looked to the screen. Back to the painting. On the screen was a sunset painting.

She touched brush to palette. Her hand trembled.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Sales Girl paced, uncomfortable.  Jon attempted to calm her down.  
  
"Whatever it is, they’ll take care of it."

He tried to make eye contact, but she was distracted.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Davos and Gendry  carefully separated the sketches from the pile.  
  
Davos pointed. "Check the signature."

Gendry's hands were shaky as he rolled up the sketches.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Sales Girl peered over her shoulder towards the basement.  
  
"What’s taking them so long?"

She was already on her way, approaching the stairs, getting closer and closer. Jon felt a wave of desperation. He needed to stop her--  
  
"Can I ask you something? Is there a boyfriend?"

She chuckled, surprised, but she didn't stop. At the top of the stairs, though, she paused, turned back to Jon, just as...

...Gendry and Davos emerged. The Sales Girl halted. They appeared completely normal. Calm. Gendry held up a baseball.  
  
"Looks like some kids got carried away. Broken window. I’m sure your insurance will take care of it."

The Sales Girl smiled, relieved. Jon locked eyes with Gendry.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The image on Dany’s open computer browser was undeniably the same as the painting she was restoring. She held her cell phone to her ear, concern on her face--  
  
"Yes. I see here on your website that you have “Copenhagen 37” in your museum, is that correct?"

She listened. Suddenly, her face fell.  
  
"... When was it stolen?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jon checked his watch as the salesgirl showed him some options.

"I just don’t know. I might have to take your card and come back."

She chewed her lips.  
  
"So, you asked if I was single--"

"Yes. Tell me: if your new sort-of boyfriend got you one of these, would you think, too serious? Too much too fast? There’s this girl I’m seeing..."

The salesgirl deflated.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Rolls Royce idled on a narrow side street. Jon hopped into the back seat, next to Davos. Gendry hit the gas.  
  
Davos rolled up the cuffs of his pants and opened his jacket. Inside, attached to a system of strings and clips, he'd affixed about a dozen rolled-up sketches. Jon unlatched a sketch and inspected it. He smiled, content.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

A jittery Dany followed Jorah on his rounds.  
  
"Are you sure it wasn’t a copy, what you restored?"

She nodded, positive. She felt frantic, talking fast--  
  
"I checked the Art Loss Register. How did we not hear about this? It was stolen three months ago."

"Happens all the time, I’m afraid. Racks up something like six billion quid a year, stolen art."

"I know, but paintings like this, on the private market?"  
  
"They sell ‘em fast, and no one ever knows. After a piece changes hands a few times, no one bothers to check. Buyers, dealers, they don’t know, or they look the other way. Not their fault if they didn’t know. The law says so."

She nodded, wheels spinning in her mind.  
  
"It’s not like James Bond... Laser beams, armed security systems... You know how it is here: art rich, endowment poor. We can only do so much, especially in this economy. Things slip through the cracks. I bet your boss had no idea."  
  
"Sure. I’m sure you’re right."  
  
Daenerys took this all in, trying to process it.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back in her studio, Dany sat in darkness. She inspected the pointillism under a black light.  
  
"Oh my god."

She squinted and could make out more damage and hand prints on the painting!

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys sat at her workspace, deep in thought. Eyes glued to that pointillist. Jon burst in, looking handsome and cool. She turned to him, cold. She opened her mouth to speak and--

"What do you say we go to Italy for the night?"

Daenerys was taken aback. She considered this...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Somehow Daenerys found herself standing in Naples, as Jon Snow took her out properly

Dany, in a colorful sundress with a low-cut back and a big floppy hat, stepped down the staircase of a private plane.

Dany and Jon wandered down a cobble-stoned alley to a piazza. Some kids played soccer. When their ball bounced away, Jon kicked it high. Dany stole it, and kicked it back to the kids.

The National Galleries. Daenerys pulled Jon over to a Baroque painting of a feast. A luscious roast, plump grapes, crusty bread, a wheel of cheese. Dany's stomach growled. They laughed.

Along the Lungomore seaside promenade, padlocks were chained to poles, marked with initials. Love knots. Dany tugged on one.

The Pio Monte della Misericorda. Above an ornate altar hanged a dark, haunting, painting: Caravaggio’s “Seven Works of Mercy.” Two angels wrestled in the sky over human chaos below. Dany and Jon stood before it, debating. She was in heaven.

Jon leads Dany down the street, to a dock where a speedboat waited for them. Dany turned to him and laughed, in disbelief.  
  
Dinner was on the boat’s deck. On a white linen table cloth was an exact recreation of the feast painting Daenerys liked at the museum, except it was made of real, delicious food. She gasped.  
  
"How did you do that?!"

She circled the table, awed.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany and Jon drank wine on the bow of the speedboat while the sun set.  
  
"My dad was an alcoholic and a twobit crook and my mum was always in her own world. Like... Once she decided we were going to have a fruit stand, because she got a deal from some wholesaler on all these crates of apples and she’d found a shop to rent. I don’t even know how, but it was quite fun at first, planning it. We got a chalk-board sign. But when it was the day to start we showed up at the storefront and the man we were supposed to meet never came. There was a big padlock on the grates. We waited on the sidewalk. Two hours. Three. Finally she said she’d changed her mind, and the fruit shop was a shit idea. As we were walking back I realized she probably dreamt the whole thing up, maybe walking by that empty storefront, maybe watching TV. We ate apples for weeks."  
  
"Oh, Jon..."

He shrugged it off and turned all of his attention back to her.  
  
"I want to hear more about Vermont. What your house looked like and what other framed prints are there."

Dany laughed.  
  
"God. We bought that when they came to visit after I finished school... Someday I’ll get them a real one. My dad would go out of his mind. Once a month, when I was little, we’d go into Boston to the Museum of Fine Arts and see the exhibits, and they had these free Sunday art classes for kids so I’d do that... It was like a six hour drive each way. But. They taught me to love art. I’d bring home sand paintings and Popsicle-stick sculptures and my mom would put them up. Top shelf of the bookcase."

Dany took a gulp right from the wine bottle.  
  
"And they’re both convinced I’m going to be an outrageous success! So it’s like, you only want to call them when there’s good news. How messed up is that? It’s easier for me to not have a relationship with them until I can fly them out first class, announce I’ve met all my goals, and, you know, buy an original Van Gogh for my dad and a house on Nantucket for my mom."  
  
"Nantucket?"  
  
"It’s an island off the East Coast. Massachusetts. When I was in fifth grade we took a week vacation there, rented a cottage. 3 Beach Street. Right on the water. My mom said it was heaven. And it was. I want to go back. Do you like listening to me drunk ramble?"  
  
"I love it." 

Jon leaned in close, serious.  
  
"We can have all those things. We can buy Three Beach Street!"  
  
He raised the bottle and she clinked her glass in cheers. He stood up, and unbuttoned his shirt, then undid his pants.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Going for a swim."  
  
"It’ll be freezing."  
  
"So what?"

She watched as he dove off the bow into the cold water. He hooted, laughing. Left alone in her blanket, Dany had no choice... She pulled off her clothes, shivering, and jumped in.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany, hair still wet from the swim, looked tan and freckled and happy as she guided Jon down a little side street.  
  
"We might get mugged but this is worth it, wait til you see...."

She stopped him at a massive surreal mural. A huge robot turtle creature embraced a bird. It was totally bizarre and beautiful.  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Kraser Tres. He’s a genius."

They stood there in the moonlight, the manic energy of the night finally settling. And Daenerys took a deep breath..."  
  
"The pointillist is stolen."

She searched his face for a reaction... Any reaction...  
  
"Let me try out a theory. You bought it at auction. You forgot to check the chain of custody... An oversight... You had no idea..."

He looked at the ground, smiling slightly. Dany's jaw dropped.  
  
"Oh my god."

His smile faded as he registered the horror on her face. She turned and walked down the cobble-stoned street, and he followed.  
  
"It’s not what you think. It’s very contained, what we do. Only small pieces, taken from places that won’t notice or won’t care. We sell to motivated buyers. The cheaper stuff goes off at auction, fast. Anything valuable is work for hire. We’re careful, our clients are careful. People who actually want to enjoy the art. Someone who commissions the acquisition of a painting wants it because they love it. They want to look at it every day. They care. Stop. Dany, stop."  
  
"‘Commissions.’"

She moved faster down the street, and he kept up--  
  
"You know how many pieces are wasting away in galleries or disintegrating in some lawyer’s office? ‘Investments.’"

Daenerys almost scoffed. "You’re a regular Robin Hood."  
  
"What I’m saying is, investors have insurance. Galleries have even more. We’re just rearranging the money of the richest people and institutions in the world. And we’re taking a cut. Everyone’s protected. No one loses anything. We just gain. And our buyers, real art lovers, are happy."  
  
"That logic... It’s perverse."

She finally stopped and turned to face him.  
  
"How do you do it?"

He seized on this hint of curiosity. He moved closer, spoke into her ear, slow, his breath hot on her neck--  
  
"Confidence. Move quickly. Don’t let anyone question you. Sometimes it’s a smash and grab, sometimes a wink and a smile. Sometimes there’s more planning involved. But it’s easy."

It felt good, his lips so close to her skin, but she shirked away, angry. She stalked off, and Jon grew desperate.  
  
"Join me."

She stopped in her tracks.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Join the team. Help us. I mean... Really. Be a partner. I could sell the guys on it, we need another..."

Over her shoulder, Jon wrestled with the fact that he had just played this card. He kneaded his temples. Panicking.  
  
"Help you steal? Who do you think I am?"

She turned away from him, so that he couldn't see the hint of a satisfaction from Dany, or her crooked little smile.  
  
"I think... you’re perfect for this. I think this is exactly who you are. You want to work with masterpieces. That’s what you were put on this earth to do."

He stood up and approached her, his eyes intense.  
  
"You want to have fun, and travel, and eat delicious food and discover new things. You want passion."  
  
He pressed against her back, ran his hands down her arms. She let him. Just as she was getting chills he broke away.  
  
"You could stick to the standard path, wait twenty years for one of the world’s, what, ten successful art restorers to retire, and then make $40,000 a year for the rest of your life and die frustrated and in debt. But that’s not what you want. I know, because you’re here right now. You want fun. You want excitement. You want everything."

Their eyes locked. A charged moment passed between them. He moved to her again, his eyes traced her lips, her cheeks...  
  
"Stop pretending you don’t."

A wry smile crept across her face.  
  
"You’re right."

She stepped close enough to kiss him but stopped just short.  
  
"I want in."  
He was shocked, and she loved it, relishing his goofy face. She laughed.  
  
"I told you. I’m meticulous. I didn’t miss a dot on that pointillism, you think I didn’t see the smudges, the tiny glass tears. Someone threw that painting out of a window. You, given the left handed glove print in the oil. You should really be more careful."

His face transformed like he'd never been more amazed or surprised or turned on by her.  
  
"You made me sweat. Now we’re even. And I want equal partnership, 25%."

Jon was frozen. And she gave him the sexiest kiss of his life.  
  
"Now we have to trust each other. No lies. No secrets. Not like this."  
  
"This is a deal?"

Dany couldn't believe it, she’d never done something so crazy--  
  
"Yes. Deal."

Jon moved to kiss her, but Dany took his hand instead.  
  
"Come on. We have more to see. There’s a Zilda over here, and a Roa, oh, and a huge graffiti wall..."

Daenery's eyes went wild, high on the power of this moment.


	5. Fun with Jon and Dany

Back in Cersei's office, Daenerys set down a cup of tea on her desk. She turned to leave as Cersei took a sip.  
  
"Sometimes I really wonder what’s wrong with you."

Dany spun around.  
  
"This is ice cold."  
  
"I’m so sorry. I got distracted. I’ll make you a new one."

"Do you think they offer a graduate degree in boiling water?"

Daenerys forced a breath. Her eyes watered, anger bubbling over.

Cersei continued. "If so, perhaps I’ll endorse your application."

"Ms. Lannister."

Cersei craned her neck as though it was a great effort.  
  
"For two years I’ve smiled. I’ve kept my head down and done my job. I’ve stomached your demeaning remarks because I thought working here was my dream. But guess what?This is bullshit. And I don’t have to put up with it anymore."

Cersei gaped. Dany pivoted to the door.

"I quit."

Cersei’s jaw nearly hit her desk as Daenerys left.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

At Jon's, Daenerys searched high and low for him only to overhear him whispering confidentially with Davos and Gendry in his office.  She hovered beyond the closed door, and craned to listen in, but she couldn't hear much.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Jon conferred with Gendry and Davos.  
  
"25%?" Davos cocked a skeptical eye brow.  
  
"I had to make it appealing. This was all ahead of schedule."  
  
Gendry's turn. "When will you tell her?"  
  
Jon sighed. "When I have to."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Later in Jon's Drawing Room, Daenerys had joined Gendry, Davos, and Jon at their meeting. Amidst papers and computers, cigarettes, coffee cups and wine bottles littered the table. The group had been at it all day.  
  
"Let’s catch Dany up on this. We’ve tracked the ownership of this particular Manet for the last four years. Six months ago the Johnson family sold this to Edouard LeFevre at Sotheby’s Impressionist/Modern."  
  
Davos added. "Sold it cheap, too."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Inside Sotheby's. It was big business and fine art converge here. A banner announced the Impressionist/Modern sale. Brokers and fancy Buyers spilled into the live auction. Davos sat in the crowd.  
  
The Auctioneer began. "Do I hear six million?"

Davos clocked the bids as paddles popped up.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back in the Drawing Room Jon showed a blown-up image of the Manet on the screen. A round naked woman, lounging, chin tipped towards the light.  
  
"Our client is Murray Largman. The Largman family’s generations-old collection of impressionistic and post-impressionistic art was looted from their Bucharest home during WWII, before they fled to France. We haven’t been able to locate the Renoirs or one large Matisse, but we’ve got a window on this Manet."  
  
Daenerys spoke up, intrigued. "If we’re talking about Nazi looting, can’t he go to the police?"

Jon made a face, seemingly annoyed at the interruption--  
  
"No provenance or proof of ownership. Everything was destroyed. That’s why he needs us."

"That’s terrible."

"And LeFevre’s Paris apartment went on the market last week."

"How do you know the Manet is there?"  
  
"It’s a small world, people talk. A contact who went to a salon at LeFevre’s said she saw it."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

An industrial Loft. A vast, open apartment full of structural installation art. Gendry talked to an attractive girl in a giant skirt made of feathers.  
  
Davos scoffed. "By contact, he means some socialite he used to shag."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Gendry shrugged. Jon clicked through exterior photos of LeFevre’s flat, the penthouse of a historic downtown building.  
  
Davos continued. "More importantly, we went to the source. I had my broker get in touch with LeFevre’s. Told him I was very busy, and asked if he’d sell the place furnished, and if so, what was included."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

A real estate office. A well-dressed Broker in an elegant office faxed a document.  
  
"As an art lover, I made sure I was clear that I was interested in any and all decoration. If we’d come to an agreement about the price, I’d wire the deposit."

Davos inspected the document: it was a list of accoutrements, pieces. A Victorian Chaise Lounge, A Louis XIV Clock.... A Manet...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In a different real estate office now.  Davos sat across from a respectable looking Real Estate Broker, who passed him a document. Davos perused it.  
  
"Sadly, negotiations got sticky, and we couldn’t come to an agreement."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys listened, completely engaged.  
  
"So you know the Manet is there. It’s so simple. But it’s brilliant."  
  
Jon nodded. "We don’t know where it is, exactly."  
  
Gendry added. "We can make educated guesses."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

At Lefevre's flat, Gendry snapped photos from across the street. He looked like just another hipster with a fancy camera, but, in truth he used his long lens to glimpse inside LeFevre’s building. The first floor lobby, with the security desk. He saw peeks at the  
penthouse itself. The public cameras mounted outside.  
  
"By the way, security cameras in the lobby. Internal alarm system. Which won’t matter because someone’s going to let you in."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

They looked at the exterior of the building on Google Earth. Davos pointed at the screen and explained.  
  
"CCTV on the street corner. We can’t get into that system, so remember, when you get outside, keep walking."  
  
Daenerys scoffed. "You mean you can get inside the security cameras?"  
  
Davos nodded. "If they stream online, which almost everything does."

She was amazed, but she tried to play it cool. Jon spoke up.  
  
"We expect the Manet is in the living room, but we’ll have to locate it in the moment. Take it, and replace it with the print without alerting the broker."

Suddenly that didn't sound so easy. Dany swallowed, intimidated.  
  
"What will I do?"  
  
Gendry smiled. "You’re our secret weapon."

Jon gave Gendry a funny look. Gendry hurried to clarify--  
  
"What I mean is, we try not to adhere to any sort of pattern. No two thefts or sales can look exactly alike, and you... Well, you’re different. You’re authentic and new and perfect for this. You're going with Jon, you guys can play a couple. As long as you two aren’t suspicious, you’ll get your chance alone in the apartment."

Dany sensed tension in Jon as Gendry spoke. Jealousy? Jon looked to Davos, who pulled a print of the Manet out of a file.  
  
Jon pointed to it. "This is our decoy."  
  
"We’re going to replace the original with this?"  
  
"They won’t notice right away."  
  
"But it’s so flat..."

She held the paper further from her face, squinting.  
  
"I can do better."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Inside The British Museum, Dany and Jon, hand in hand, consulted a real life Manet.  
  
Daenerys pointed toward the painting, explaining for Jon and mentally taking notes.

"See the shadow, here?"

Jon kissed her neck. She laughed, loving this ‘research.’

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Down a hallway, Dany peered over each shoulder, mischievous. She dragged Jon into a supply closet, shoving him against a wall, undoing the button of his jeans. Jon stuttered in disbelief--  
  
"What are you...? Oh my god." He trailed off as she took him into her mouth, much to her delight.  He groaned and ran his hands through her hair.  She smiled around him as he looked down at her with awe.  Seeing her cool and confident Jon be such puddy in her hands made her feel...  Powerful.  She reached down and began to massage him as she doubled down and got properly to work. After only a few minutes he began to pant uncontrollably and groan.  He tried to pull her away, but she fought him off and sucked him down hard, milking every last drop of his seed, looking up to see his eyes roll into the back of his head as he moaned loudly and groaned out curses. 

Suddenly someone banged on the door, making them both jump. To her absolute horror, a guard tore it open before she had removed Jon entirely from her mouth.  
  
"What the hell is going on?!" 

Dany and Jon separated with a 'pop' as she wiped away the remains of Jon from her chin, mortified.  Her life was over.  This was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. On either side of the guard, she locked eyes with Jon... And then they ran for it, Jon grabbing her hand and dragging her along behind him hauling ass.  They didn't stop until they were out the door and around the block, laughing like crazy teenagers.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back in the studio, Daenerys mixed paint on her palette. Affixed to the window: an image of the Manet she was copying. The beautiful naked woman.

Dany prepared the forgery. She sketched, she painted, she shaded. Adding texture. 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Davos showed Jon the listing of LeFevre’s property.  
  
"Adorable Holocaust angle, by the way. You’re going straight to hell."

Jon smirked.  "I’ll see you there."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Gendry showed Jon and Dany a mock-up floor plan of the flat.

Dany and Jon practiced entering the study, with Gendry playing the broker. Davos watched, giving notes.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Drinking a beer, Dany watched a heist movie on Jon's couch.

Day became night as Dany labored over the copy, obsessed.

She dried her painting with a fan, considering her work.  
  
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany was dressed the part, and she had never looked better: thigh high boots and a sheath dress, a diamond statement necklace. She pulled a pair of leather gloves from a Chanel box. Gendry lined her handbag with foam and cotton. He slid a crowbar inside.  
  
Dany groaned. "Oh, Jesus."  
  
Gendry shook his head. "Don’t worry. You’re not clubbing old ladies, it’s just for Jon to wedge the frame off the wall."  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"Want a drink?"  
  
'God, yes."

He produced whiskey and a glass. She undid the cap and took a pull straight from the bottle. Jon rushed in, and he stopped in his tracks when he saw Daenerys. She blushed slightly as she pulled on a beautiful tailored coat.  
  
"What? Is it too much?"  
  
"No. You look perfect."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Outside the Lefevre's building Daenerys and Jon looked fantastic together: hip and sophisticated. Hand in hand, they approached the entrance. A doorman stood outside. Gendry idled in a Porsche behind them.  
  
Jon leaned over, whispering in her ear."You’ll be brilliant."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Gendry waited down the block from the apartment. He checked his rearview mirror: the building’s entrance was clearly in sight.  
  
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Gendry startled. It was a cop, banging his knuckles on the window. Gendry breathed, rolled down the glass.  
  
"No standing here."  
  
"Isn’t this passenger loading? I’m just waiting for my boss."  
  
"Not on Saturdays."

He indicated a sign.  
  
"Move it along."

Gendry slowly rumbled off, leaving the apartment behind him.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
A real estate broker in a blazer and pearls, showed Jon and Dany the penthouse. She walked them through the palatial living room. Daenery's eyes scoured every inch of the place.  
  
The broker spoke up. "Are you married?"

Dany was so tense she nearly jumped at the question.  
  
Jon answered for her. "Someday, if she ever lets me tie her down. What do you think, if I lived in a place like this? Maybe?"

He beamed at her with that confident smile, calming her down instantly.  The broker smiled at them.

"You two are darling. Let me show you through to the master."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Gendry took a turn and found himself in a long line of traffic. Someone pulled up behind him. He was stuck.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Through two pocket doors was another sprawling, decadently furnished space. Blue and white porcelain, oriental rugs.

Dany scanned the room, her eyes taking stock of each piece of art, each photograph on the wall, every shelf. She looked at Jon, biting her lips. The Manet was nowhere to be found. Daenerys stalled, voice wavering--  
  
"Is this Italian marble?"

The Broker nodded. Jon paced, also looking for the painting. Daenerys clenched her fists. She caught herself, and relaxed.  
  
"Well... it’s lovely..."  
  
"And the ensuite is just behind you."

Daenerys forced a smile. Playing her part, she peeked into the bathroom. Tile. An enormous tub. She nearly jumped when she saw...

...THE MANET, hanging over the double vanity!  
  
"Oh, honey..."

Jon was preoccupied, retracing his steps in the bedroom, looking for the painting. He didn't get the hint.  
  
Daenerys struggled not to roll her eyes. "Oh, honey. I really think you’d like this. Gorgeous mosaic work."

Suddenly it clicked. Jon joined her in the bathroom. He saw the Manet. There was a shared glance of relief between them. The broker followed.  
  
"The tile is all original."  
  
"I love it. What do you think, baby?"

She ran her hand over Jon's chest affectionately, while Jon played the pensive husband, thinking. No one moved. All of them trapped in the bathroom. Dany felt like she was suffocating, sweating--  
  
She turned and caught the Brokers eyes. "I may have to twist his arm."  
  
She nodded, knowingly. "I’ll give you two a minute."

Smiling, the broker slinked out. Dany and Jon froze, listening to her clinking footsteps on the marble. When she was gone...  
  
... They moved. Dany unsnapped her purse, producing the copy. Jon peeked out the door. Coast clear. He pulled on gloves, climbing onto the sink and dislodging the original Manet.  
  
Daenerys muttered to herself. "In the goddamn bathroom."

Jon flipped over the ornate frame of the original, unsnapping it.  
  
"What a sick joke. It’s gonna be saturated with water damage."  
  
Jon interrupted her rambling. "Baby, stop talking. Just go."

He slid the glass of the frame and Dany removed the painting. For a bated moment she was holding an original Manet inches from her face! She grinned, sliding it into her bag.

Then: Footsteps on marble. The broker was coming.

Dany looked at Jon: what the fuck? The undone frame was still sitting on the counter, the copy beside it.

CLICK-CLACK. CLICK-CLACK. She was getting closer. Dany thought, desperate--  
  
"What aren’t you telling me then?!"

Jon balked, confused. But she motioned, urging him on--  
  
"What?"  
  
"Is there someone else?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"

Dany placed her copy under the glass. Jon affixed the frame.  
  
"Is the business doing poorly? Because you said we could afford this place, and I want it."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Inside the Master Bedroom, the broker overheard. Feeling awkward, she stopped. Waiting.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

  
Daenery's was loud enough to muffle the sound of their framing job--  
  
"You promised me a certain type of life. Maybe I should just buy this place for myself! Without you!"

Jon balanced on the sink, setting the framed copy just so. He looked at it, adjusted it, angling it perfectly, focused.  
  
"Please, love. I’m begging you."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
There was a moment of quiet from the bathroom. Weird. The broker moved.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany grinned. The copy looked perfect. She took a step back, admiring it. Jon hopped down, then grabbed her and kissed her, ecstatic. Just as he did, the broker appeared. She saw them kissing and laughed. Daenerys held her breath as the broker looked around the bathroom. Would she notice? Was everything perfect?  
  
"Any questions?"

Dany rubbed Jon’s arm, shaking her head.  
  
"Sorry. Apartment hunting is so stressful! We need to sleep on it."

The broker smiled, making a big gesture of being supportive.  
  
"I’ll give you my card."

Dany picked up her purse and held it tight against her body.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Finally at the front of the line of traffic, Gendry cut a hard right. But he was thwarted by a road construction project. He pulled a U-turn and gunned it back down the street.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Heart pounding, Daenerys stepped onto the curb, her purse pressed tight against her side, ready to get out of there fast...  
  
But Gendry was no where to be seen. He was fucking gone.

Dany saw the terror on Jon's face as his eyes searched the street. He swallowed. They were frozen. Clenched by panic.  
  
He whispered to her. "Don’t stop moving."

He pulled her across the street.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Gendry zoomed the wrong way down a one-way street.  
  
"Fuck fuck fuck."

When he popped out at the end of the road, he was met with another one way street, so he threw the car in reverse, just in time to pull up in front of the building.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jon and Daenerys walked down the street, foot commuters pushing past them. Someone knocked into Dany and she instinctively clutched her purse. She was shaking like a leaf.  She felt weak. Jon pulled her along.  
  
They walked past a mounted cop. The horse whinnied. Daenerys looked down at the sidewalk. She could hardly breathe. She grabbed Jon's hand, tears starting to form in her eyes.  It was too much. Finally, up ahead, they spotted Gendry. He and Dany ran across the street, cutting through cars in traffic. They threw themselves into the back seat, fast--  
  
"Where the fuck were you?" Jon barked.

Gendry hit it, peeling off the road. He was about to turn away from the traffic when, from behind them, Sirens screeched.

Gendry checked his mirror. It was a cruiser. Right behind them.  
  
Gendry gulped. "Maybe it’s not for us."

He careened around a turn, gunning it through a yellow light, and the cops accelerated, on their tail. There was nothing to do...  
  
"Fuck."  
  
"Just pull over!"

He did, and the cruiser stopped. They waited. Dany could hardly breathe. She clenched her purse between her legs. Jon reached over for her and rubbed her thigh, calming her.  "Breathe, baby.  Deep breathes."  
  
"Does this normally happen?"

Jon didn't answer. Gendry locked eyes with Dany in his rear view. She saw the fear in him. The cop -- the same one who accosted Gendry earlier -- approached the window.  
  
"What’s going on with you, Sir?"  
  
"I’m a driver. These are my bosses."

Jon's jaw tensed. Daenerys grabbed his hand.  
  
She smiled sweetly at the officer. "Sorry, we were rushing him."

The cop craned to get a look at her. She held his gaze.  
  
"I didn’t stop you for speeding."

A sharp intake of breath from Gendry. The cop rested his hands on the roof of the car, leaning over, eyes scanning everyone and every thing in the car. Each second was torture.  
  
"Are you aware you traveled the wrong way down a one-way street?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Inside Jon's parking garage, Gendry screeched the car to a stop in Jon's parking space. He plucked Dany's purse from the backseat. As he moved around the car, he pulled a fake license plate cover off the back plates.

Dany could barely move. She was stunned. In shock. About to cry.  
  
"It’s not usually like that." Jon offered weakly.

She burst into adrenaline-fueled laughter. The danger, the relief, the victory bubbling over. She hiked up her beautiful dress and straddled Jon, grabbing his shoulders. Kissing him hard, with a crazy sense of power.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Davos inspected the stolen Manet in the drawing room. Jon appeared in the door.  
  
Jon smiled. "She’ll touch this up for Largman."

Davos looked at the painting, satisfied. But he was uneasy.  
  
"Sure you know what you’re doing?"  
  
"Relax. She’s doing great." 

"Bolton called. The drawings will only tide him over for so long."  
  
Jon nodded.  Grim. "Tell him we’re on track."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Dany found herself sitting in Lyle's Private Club, a speakeasy-style restaurant, straight out of the twenties. Dark, sexy, fancy. The kind of place that reeked of exclusivity.  She noted that Missy and Renly were a little uncomfortable and a lot under dressed  
compared to Dany, but they also seemed overjoyed to see her.  
  
Renly glanced around, awed. "Can’t believe you got us in here."  Daenerys couldn't help but smirk.  Renly had been trying all night to avoid staring at Jon.  He was clearly quite smitten.  
  
Missy nodded in agreement. "I know, this is very cool."  
  
Dany nodded absently. "The food’s okay. We mostly like the cocktails."

Jon arrived with drinks for everyone. He passed them out.  
  
"She’s got a very good palate. I’m always learning from her."

He squeezed her shoulder, playful, and sat down. Daenerys couldn't help the blush. Missy and Renly shared a glance, wondering if he was talking about their Daenerys.

"I want to know everything about each of you, and it’s very important you skip nothing. Loads of detail. Missandei, you first."  
  
"Oh. Well, I’m a solicitor. It’s very boring, I’m sure Dany told you... The biggest excitement in my week is our Thursday pub quiz."  
  
Dany felt a pang of emotion as she said it, and she felt compelled to defend her friend. "That’s not true--"  
  
But Jon cut her off. "Wait wait wait. Thursday night is the quiz? Today’s Thursday." 

Jon looked around at all of them, confused.  
  
"What are we doing here? Let’s go."  
  
Dany frowned. "No, no babe. This is so nice."  
  
Renly shook his head. "It’s really not important."  
  
Missy agreed. "Trust me, it’s far from elegant."

But Jon was up in an instant. He made the “tab” motion to a waiter in suspenders. Dany glanced down, a little hesitant to leave. Missy noticed.  
  
"We don’t have to... Are you embarrassed?"

Daenerys didn't answer. Jon returned, clutching everyone’s coats.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Inside the Queen's Arms Pub. Two pitchers of beer, a basket of soggy fries, and all around drunken merriment. They all huddled over a paper. Daenery's was intense:  
  
"No, no, no. Listen. The fastest way to do it is the anagrams first, then we can discuss all the hard questions, leave more time. Jon knows football. I’ll take history, obviously, you two politics and pop culture. Jon doesn’t know pop culture." Jon frowned at her, hurt. "I’m sorry babe, but you don’t!"

Missy smiled at Jon, sympathetic. "She’s extremely competitive. She can’t help it, it’s compulsive..."  
  
Renly nodded his agreement. "Our secret weapon."

Jon watched Daenerys scribble away, in her own world. He couldn't help but smile at her furrowed brow, her pencil flying. Her passion touching his heart. Dany looked up and caught him staring.  
  
"Hey, hey, get to work!"

They laughed. Daenerys did, too -- She felt like she had it all.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back in Jon's bedroom, they were having slow, languid sex on Jon’s bed. Dany pushed his shoulders and flipped on top of him, in control. He touched her face, suddenly becoming quite serious as he seemed to stare into her.  
  
"I’m in love with you."

Her mouth fell open a little. She covered it with her hand.  
  
"Don’t look so surprised."

"I love you, too."

She sort of giggled, suddenly shy, overwhelmed with warmth. He kisses her, then threw her down onto the bed and she screamed and squealed with delight.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The next day on a private jet, Dany sat next to Jon and sipped a glass of wine. He read from his iPad. Davos and Gendry sat behind them, talking quietly.  
  
"Will the museum mind that you’re leaving for a while?"  
  
Daenerys glanced up, confused. "The museum?"  
  
'What will they do with your tours?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
She gave him a strange look.

"I don’t work there anymore."  
  
Jon tensed. "I told you to keep that job."  
  
"Well, I quit. I can’t believe you didn’t know that."

A flash of rage crossed Jon's eyes. He suppressed it, but too late.  She saw it.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jon turned the key to a gorgeous Chateau. It was “Rustic chic” colorful, beautifully curated. Dany was floored. It was extravagant like nothing she had ever seen. She tried to conceal her giddiness as she explored each room.  
  
Davos scoffed. "A little much, don’t you think?"

From the other room, Dany yelped, ecstatic.  
  
"Glad we’re spending our advance spoiling your girlfriend."

Jon gave Davos a searing glance and then a little smile.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In the bathroom, Daenerys in all her clothes, lied in a giant claw-footed tub. The bathroom had a sparkling chandelier and a flat screen TV.  
  
"Maybe I want to look at the TV, maybe I want to look at the crystal."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
In the bedroom. A lush canopied bed, a textured ceiling, with giant gold tassels around the bedposts. Jon found Dany admiring the opulence.  
  
"Thank god you decided to spring for the big tassels. What would we have done without them?"

She clocked the tension in Jon.  
  
"Hey, are you upset with me?"

He grabbed her waist, tugging her close to him.  
  
"Of course not."

He kissed her neck, her collarbone.  
  
"But you seem like something’s bothering you and I want to..."

They tumbled onto the giant bed and he sank down, lower and lower. He pulled off her shoes... Reaching up her dress...  
  
"Okay, okay." She sighed, happily.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

At the chateau’s grand table, over cigars and scotches and scattered documents, they planned their targets. Jon clicked through images of paintings on the TV screen.  
  
"We’ve got twelve targets in France. Eight oil paintings, a small sculpture, a drawing, two pastels."

Davos hacked into what appeared to be a google calendar.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dressed in business attire and holding briefcases, Dany and Jon rang a mansion’s doorbell. A timid assistant answered.  
  
"Hello, we’re the insurance adjusters from Petersen’s."

The assistant looked at a schedule on his iPhone.  
  
Daenerys spoke up." Monsieur Cote made the appointment."

She flashed a smile, assertive but sweet.  
  
"Are you sure you don’t see it?"  
  
"Oh, oh, yes. Here it is..."

They were in. Jon and Dany, wearing gloves, picked through an over-stuffed vault. Some paintings were hung in neat, climate controlled sleeves, others were stacked in cluttered corners.  
  
Daenerys smiled. "Got it."

Jon opened her purse so she could slide a painting inside.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jon and Dany were having a lovely picnic lunch amidst the tall grass, just over the hill from a little stone church.

Inside the Church, light spilled across the stone floor, the wooden pews, a simple altar, the stained glass. Jon and Dany used a blowtorch to free a Madonna painting that was bolted to the wall. Stone shards tumbled. 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany restored the church painting, sewing a large tear. The Madonna’s eyes were smiling slits. She seemed to watch Daenerys.

Spread across the chateau’s table: were the stolen paintings.

At her easel, Daenerys painted a copy of a Warhol's Campbell's Soup piece, working from an image on an Ipad. She worked with paper and an exacto knife to create a stencil.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

They found themselves in a small, minimalist art gallery. A real Warhol rested on a stand in the front window. No cables or tethers connected it. Jon and Dany, disguised, talked to the young gallery owner.

When the men disappeared into a back room, Dany snatched the Warhol and replaced it with her copy in one fluid motion.

Gendry popped in from the street and she handed off her purse. He traded her for an identical bag.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Out at a smoky club in Paris, the team celebrated. A sexy Burlesque dancer pulled Dany on stage. Daenerys danced, losing herself, awash in the moment as Jon and the guys watched.  She gave Jon a flirtatious grin and did her best Charleston while he laughed. 


	6. The Dark Before The Dawn

That night in the Chateu, Jon, Gendry, and Davos worked. Davos gave Gendry a nod, encouraging. Now was the time. Gendry stood.

Gendry considered Jon carefully. "Bolton called again. Ten weeks. We need to start preparing her--"  
  
Jon quickly cut him off. "We have been preparing her."

Davos spoke up gently. "You said it yourself, and you were right. She’s good. She’s ready."  
  
Gendry continued. "You’re afraid that if you tell her now, you’ll lose her."

Jon suddenly exploded.

"I’m afraid that if I tell her now, before she’s comfortable, we’ll lose her. And then, guess what? We’re fucked. There is no Plan B."

Gendry wasn’t afraid. He got in Jon's face.  
  
"You need to get things straight. You’ve let fucking this girl go to your head, and it’s like you forget the whole reason she’s here--"

Jon lunged and grabbed Gendry's neck, mashing his face against the window. Gendry coughed, reaching for Jon's fingers, trying to break free. He couldn't breathe...  
  
Jon spoke slowly, quietly. "Don’t talk like that."

Gendry gasped for air. Davos watched, silent, as Jon finally let go. Gendry cowered and rubbed his neck.  
  
Jon backed up. "She’s worth 1,000 times what you are, and we all know it."

He turned, and left.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany blinked awake to find Jon dressed, throwing clothes into a bag. She sat up on her elbows, bleary-eyed.  
  
"Let’s go away for the night. Just the two of us."  
  
"A new job? What is it?"  
  
"Just come on."

She crawled out of bed, her interest piqued.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

With the top down on Jon's Jaguar, they cruised through the French countryside. Past farms, fields of lavender. The wind blew through Dany's hair as they flew down a hill. She screamed in delight.  Jon laughed and hit the gas even harder.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

La Colombe D'or, a gorgeous boutique hotel. A terra cotta roof stretched over stone buildings, connected by terraces. Shuttered windows peered over the countryside. Dany and Jon left the car with a valet in a white tux, and Dany gasped when they saw...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

.. Inside, the walls were papered in art. Masterworks everywhere you looked. It was like a museum, but more intimate, more rustic.  
  
Daenerys peered around amazed. "Oh my god."  
  
Jon smiled. "One of the biggest private collections in France."

Daenerys felt awestruck. "I can’t believe this place is real."  
  
"I knew you’d like it. They have more art here than they can fit on the walls, so the collection’s always rotating. There’s a pool, too, and gardens. Wait until you see our suite..."

She couldn't tear herself away from the paintings. She was lost in a cubist Picasso, flanked by a Salvador Dali, and a Rothko.  
  
"Sorry, what?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Later they found themselves in a Terrace Restaurant, tucked into a stone alcove, Dany and Jon ate by candlelight. Wax dripped onto the white tablecloth. Dany smeared bread with salted butter. There was wine, leek tarts, marrow. And a giant Leger mural hung across from them, nestled in the ivy.  
  
Dany considered it. "I’m shocked they leave that exposed. I guess it’s designed for the elements. Did you know it’s a Leger? It’s completely ceramic. And there’s a Calder mobile by the pool, did you see it? Incredible."

Daenerys looked up at him, catching him watching her.  
  
"I am obsessed, I know."

Jon set down his knife and fork. "I wanted to tell you something important."

She chewed, mouth full, like a kid, looking up at him. Jon searched for words, hesitant. He seemed as nervous as she had ever seen him.  
  
"I think we should change course. Not right now, but soon. I care about you, and I don’t want to do this forever. At some point, we could have a real life."

Daenerys almost laughed.  She couldn't help but think this bout of seriousness must be a joke.  
  
"Oh, come on. You? Get out?"  
  
"One more big job, and we could set ourselves up. We’d have the money to live here, or the States even--"  
  
"You’re really going soft on me. What happened to, “join the party!”"

He hesitated, looking vulnerable, and didn't seem to know what to say.  She suddenly felt a bit strange.

"Let’s order dessert."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In their suite, Jon and Dany were packed. Jon grabbed their bags.

"I’ll take these and get the car."  
  
She snorted at him, amused. "I can’t believe there was really no job. I can’t believe it."  
  
"I just wanted us to get away."

He left. Daenerys paced the room, wistful, even disappointed. On the bathroom sink she saw that he had left his silver razor. She put it in her purse and left.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany walked down the hotel’s grand staircase, eyes tracing the paintings that ran down the steps. She paused, accosted by one, tiny, whimsical little Chagall. It was weird and sweet: a brown-haired girl with striped tights soars in the night sky. Dany's face lit up. She loved it.

She wanted it.

And in that greedy, lustful moment, a crazy instinct kicked in...

... She looked over her shoulder. Scanned the ceiling for cameras, the upper landing for people. Everyone below her was going about their business, and no one was coming up above. She bit her lip, reaching into her purse. She clutchd The Razor. Hand concealed within the bag, she clicked its blade free. She wielded it between her finger and thumb. One more breath, one more look over each shoulder...

She leaned against the wall, shielding the painting with her body. She breathed hard. Her makeup melted on her skin. She brought her shaking hand to the canvas, and in four quick slashes, she cut Chagall out of it's frame.

She curled it in her hand and shoved it into her purse. Head down, Daenerys ran out the front door...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

... Where Jon was loading the car. Dany hurled herself into the front seat, shaking, terrified but grinning like a maniac.  
  
"Drive!"  
  
"Just a second."  
  
"I’m serious, Jon, go now!!!"

She practically screamed it, and he knew suddenly something was very wrong. He threw the car into gear and they blasted away.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany turned around in her seat, watching the road behind them.  
  
"Faster."  
  
"What the hell happened, Dany?"

She faced forward, unzipped her purse and revealed the Chagall painting. A wry smile. She looked at him, proud...

... But Jon was absolutely horrified.  
  
"What were you thinking? Do you know how easily you could’ve gotten caught?"  
  
"But we didn’t! I knew we wouldn’t."  
  
"No. No. That was crazy. Stupid. That was an incredible waste."

She felt jittery, wired, and floored by his reaction.  What was wrong?  
  
"What’s wrong with you? I just got us an original Marc Chagall. You said yourself they’ve got so much art they don’t even display it all. They won’t even miss it. They probably don’t even care."  
  
"That’s not what I said. Not at all. Show it to me again."

She held the painting on her lap. It was nearly destroyed.  
  
"Jesus Christ. You would’ve gone to jail... For that? It’s ruined."

He was screaming over the roaring engine, and his words sunk in. Dany looked at the sliced up painting. All of a sudden it was real to her, tactile, and grotesque. Destroyed.  
  
Jon continued, afraid. "I meant what I said last night."  
  
"I didn’t realize you were serious."

He hit the gas and they plunged over the hills. Dany stared out the window. The scenery flew by, a blur. She tried to touch his arm but he pulled away. He wouldn't even look at her.  She felt an overwhelming wave of shame.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
Back in the Chateau, Dany and Davos talked over whiskey as Jon slept on the couch.  
  
She felt exhausted, and stupid. "I’m messed up over it."  
  
"We’ve all gone too far before. It gets to you. Like a drug."  
  
"I used to be afraid to stand too close to paintings at a museum. I wanted to touch them so badly that I was scared I’d somehow do it by accident."  
  
Davos smirked. "I believe the word for that is ‘nerd.’"  
  
"Was Gendry really a Formula 1 racer, before he started working here?"  
  
"Hell, no. He was the mechanic for the MacLaren team for a while. They let him hang around. He was never good enough to drive for them..."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"We both owe Jon a lot. I was a little lost when he found me." He took a puff of his cigar. "I guess we all sort of were, huh?"

Daenerys pulled her blanket around her, stricken.  
  
"He said he wanted a “real life” with me. Do you think that’s true?"  
  
Davos looked slightly stunned. "He said that?"

He looked off, and Dany didn't get her answer.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jon burst in and threw a newspaper at a groggy Dany who was still half asleep. He was fuming, pacing the room.  
  
"Wake up. Hey. Look at this."  
  
"You know I can’t read French."  
  
"The police are looking for the stolen Colombe D’Or painting, and their security camera got a photo."

Dany sat up, petrified. She flipped to a photo in the paper.  
  
"Great work. I hope you’re very proud."

The photo was grainy, their faces weren't completely clear. But the make and model of the car was totally discernible.  
  
Daenerys felt like throwing up. "Oh my god. I am so sorry."

Jon stormed out of the room.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Everyone strategized at the table. Gendry tried to stay calm.  Jon wouldn't even look at Dany. Davos looked sadly between them all.  
  
Gendry spoke up. "We can’t drive back. We’ve got to ditch the car, destroy the plates. The photo barely shows your faces, I’m sure we can fly home."  
  
Davos cut in. "But we can’t ship the art. The plan was to drive because we don’t have a trustworthy shipper here, that was the whole bloody point--"

Jon cut him off. "Fuck the paintings. We just need to get back to London."  
  
Davos looked baffled. "Who are you? Davos, who is he?"  
  
Gendry shook his head. "He’s gone absolutely mad, like I said the other night."

Jon looked like he might maul Gendry.  
  
Davos continued before they could go at each other. "Obviously we cannot afford to sacrifice the paintings." 

Dany lit up with an idea. "We’ll take the paintings with us. On the airplane."  
  
Gendry rolled his eyes. "You see, there’s this thing called customs? Nice idea though. Genius."  
  
She brushed off his sarcasm. "We conceal them."

She had Gendry’s attention, and Jon seemed to be listening.  
  
"I’ll apply a wash. A facade. It wouldn’t harm the painting underneath, just hide it. Then, they travel with us on the plane, we declare a total value of like two hundred euro. Tell customs that they’re souvenirs. Street art." 

Gendry looked like he was going to open his mouth to object. Jon held up a hand.  
  
"You can do that? Fast?"  
  
Dany nodded.  Confident. "That’s how I work."

Jon finally meet her gaze. She was resolved, and she hoped he could tell.  
  
"Fine. We fly tomorrow."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

A row of about ten stolen paintings lined the table. At her easel, Dany painted over one of them. The painting was a very serious portrait of Napoleon. Finished, she set it aside. She turned to the Chagall. She ran a finger along its ravaged edges, observing the deep gashes in its paint. Tears formed in her eyes.  
  
"What did I do to you?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys stared out the window of the taxi as they approached the Airport. She clutched her bag at her side. Reminding herself to breathe.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Before the gate, Dany, Jon, Davos and Gendry watched customs officers tear through their bags. Inspecting. Dany fidgeted, eyeing a large trunk. One officer opened it. Dany looked ill. She looked out the window, where the plane waited. The officer unpacked each piece of stolen art, but Dany had painted over them. There was Napoleon, a cat playing poker, the Eifel Tower, and a very serious still life of a fruit bowl.  
  
Daenerys picked at her lips. The officers joked in French, making fun. Dany clocked Jon, who refused to acknowledge her. Instead he simply looked at the ground, looking sort of sad. One officer’s gaze hanged on Napoleon. He picked it up, held it close to his face. Dany watched. Frozen. Petrified.

Finally, he scooped the paintings, throwing them back into the trunk, knocking the canvases together. Dany, anxious, burst out--  
  
"Careful!"

Davos clenched his fists. The officers gave her strange looks. She smiled, recovering. They rolled their eyes and placed the paintings back in the trunk just as roughly as before.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Their private plane was headed back to London, as Dany watched out the window finally feeling safe.  She glanced over at Jon who continued to have that sad look on his face as he stared out his own window. She decided she needed to at least try to make it up to him.  
  
"I’m sorry."  
  
"I’ve been thinking."

 _Oh God no_... Dany tensed, bracing herself for something awful.  She felt like her heart was lodged in her throat.  
  
"What about Nantucket, for the summer?"  
  
She had to take a minute to understand. "Really?"  
  
"Your parents could come. Your friends, too. Maybe we stay a while. Get a break. If you want..."  
  
"What you said before, about things changing... About a real life... I want that, too. More than anything. I got out of control, but it’s so clear now. This is it."  
  
He smiled. "Good."

He looked back out the window. She closed her eyes, relieved.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back in his drawing room, Jon ushered Gendry and Davos in and locked the door.  
  
"I’m getting out of the deal with Bolton."  
  
Davos stiffened. "You cannot do that."  
  
Gendry agreed. "You can’t fuck us, Leo, we won’t let you."  
  
Jon shook his head. "I won’t do it to her. And I’ll pay you both. You’ll get your share. I don’t care if I have to sell this place, the cars, everything. I’m not doing it."

Gendry moved to Jon, and this time Davos was with him.  
  
Jon shook his head. "This is what’s happening."

Gendry looked ready to kill him. Jon walked away.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0- 

Dany rushed out of Jon’s house, dressed for dinner in a chic blazer and a sparkly little skirt. She hurried, running late. A man rounded the corner and walked behind her, close, moving at exactly her pace. She looked back. He was vaguely familiar...  
  
She motioned, wondering if the man wanted to pass her. But he just stared at her silently and continued walking. It was chilling.

Dany breathed a little faster. She could feel him right on her heels, so she picked up speed. Turned left. Crossed the street. When she peered back over her shoulder, he was gone.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Inside the Queen's Arms Pub, Dany sat with Renly and Missandei at the bar.  
  
They were cheerful, laughing and teasing, but Dany was rattled, tense from the walk, and she couldn't quite shake it off.  
  
Missy spoke. "I feel like we still haven’t heard about the buying trip."

The Bartender delivered a cocktail to Dany. She looked at it.  
  
"I can tell you right now there’s too much St. Germain."

The bartender looked at her like he couldn't believe she was not even going to try it.

Neither could Missy or Renly. But Dany wasn’t kidding.  
  
"I’ll remake it..."

Dany nodded like, ‘yes, you will.’ She sighed.  
  
"Anything more complicated than beer appears to be a problem here."  
  
Renly began tenderly. "So the trip..."  
  
"Oh. You know. Buying art. It’s kind of an esoteric thing. I don’t want to bore you guys."

Renly looked stung by the condescension. Missy leaned in.  
  
"Hey, is everything all right?"  
  
"Yeah. Everything’s great."  
  
Missy nodded, doubtful. "Oh, okay."  
  
"Why? What?"

Dany caught Renly looking at Missy like, ‘please don’t do this.’  
  
"I just get a funny feeling that something’s a bit off. Like, maybe you’re not so happy. Did anything bad happen on the trip? Is it Jon? You wouldn’t be the first person to fall headfirst into a new job, or a new love, and find that it’s not--"  
  
"Hey. Don’t be judge-y."

Renly shook his head. "She’s not, she’s not."  
  
"I’m not. Sorry. It’s just, you were kind of snippy. The cocktail thing? I mean, come on..."

She seemed to be trying to laugh about it, but this set Dany off.  
  
"Okay. Yeah, I’m under stress. And yes, things are changing. My work. My money. God forbid, better cocktails, better food, travel. Jon, who has been fantastic to me--"  
  
"Whoa. I didn’t say... Look, I like Jon, you’re the one who seems--"

"I’m not the friend who doesn’t have it together anymore. Sorry if that’s a problem for you."

Renly appeared positively paralyzed by the awkwardness of this.  
  
Missy shook her head. "It’s like you’re having this conversation with yourself."

Dany's face fell. Over Renly's shoulder, she saw the tall man from the street walk in and take a seat at the bar. He held her eye contact. He wanted her to know he was watching...  
  
"Daenerys, I’m just trying to check in. I care about you."

But she was a million miles away. She got up.  
  
"I’m going to the bathroom."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Jon found himself in the eerie, windowless bottom floor of Roose Bolton’s ultra contemporary thirty million dollar house. Jon sat with Roose talking, while a meeting of Bolton's private club was going on. A dozen men in matching jackets drank whiskey and pored over an exhibit of paintings. Masterworks. Bolton's thugs hovered...

Jon sat across from Bolton in an armchair as Bolton spoke.  
  
"I’m very disappointed to hear this."

Jon was distracted by one of the paintings over his shoulder. It was familiar. He stared... And registered the image, shocked.  
  
"Oh, do you recognize it? It’s from the Gardner Museum, a little place in Boston. My friends have a big appetite for rare art, which is why I just can’t accept that you’re not willing to get me what I ordered."  
  
"I’ll repay your advance. With interest. Name your rate."

"The problem is, I want what I ordered. We had a deal. We timed it perfectly. If we don’t do it now, I’ll miss my chance. I can’t just go and find someone else in the next couple weeks. You said you could get it for me. But it seems I’ve been taken for a ride."  
  
"No, that’s not the case--"  
  
'Maybe I haven’t been sufficiently clear about how serious I am."

Bolton motioned to his thud, who brought him a folder.  Bolton took a stack of photographs, slid it to Jon.  
  
They were images of Daenerys: Alone on the street at night, walking out of Jon's house, getting into a cab, a close-up of her face.  
  
"If you break our deal, there will be repercussions."

Jon looked up at Bolton, seething.  
  
"Fuck you, you pathetic child."

He stood up to leave, furious, but the thug blocked him.  
  
"We’re still not understanding each other, Jon. Look around you. Look at all these fine, cultured gentlemen, these leaders of civilization. There’s no version of not giving us what we want, you see, because... Well, you won’t get away with it. You’ll be destroyed." He laughed. "This is all so abstract! I should prove my good faith. Why don’t you and Clegane here take a walk?"

Clegane grabbed Jon’s arm and pulled him around the corner, out of the party. Before Jon could react, Clegane slammed him in the face, crushing his nose. Jon yelped in pain, seeing stars. He threw a fierce punch back, then an elbow to Clegane's jaw...  
Wrong decision. Furious, the giant Clegane unleashed on Jon, pummeling him. Blood and spit speckled the walls of Bolton's home.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany, in a stall, pressed her phone to her cheek. She whispered.  
  
"Jon. Call me back as soon as you get this. It’s an emergency, and..."

She heard the swish of the door. Someone else had come in.  
  
"Please. I’m serious."

She hung up. When she emerged from her stall, she froze. The tall man who followed her was standing at the sink.

He stared at her in the mirror. He reached up and flicked the faucet off.  Daenerys chilled. She looked past him. Moving to the door--  
  
"He won’t call back."

Dany stopped. The faucet dripped in the silence.  
  
"I’m afraid he’s indisposed."

Dany turned to him...  Immediately sensing how big he was... How alone they were... The menacing coldness in his eyes...  
  
"What?"  
  
"People who don’t do their jobs are usually terminated. You ought to know that, Daenerys. He’s lucky we still need him. So are you."  
  
She felt a shot of pure terror fly through her heart.  Oh God no... "Where is he? What did you do to him?"

The Tall Man dried his hands and moved to the door. Dany, terrified, took a step back, away from him. He saw her fear, and he smiled. He moved toward her a little.  
  
"He’s getting a good night’s rest at Charing Cross."

He left. Daenerys gasped as the meaning of this sank in.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back at the table, Renly and Missy soldiered through dinner.  
  
Renly tried to reassure her. "She’ll be back soon. It’ll be fine."

Dany rushed past their table. She didn't stop to talk.  
  
"I have to go."  
  
Renly stood up. "No, no, babes... Don’t leave."  
  
Missy sighed. "Oh, please, Dany--"  
  
Daenerys raced off without responding.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jon lied on a bed. His face was bloodied and bruised, his nose covered in bandages, stitches on one cheek. His left eye was so swollen it couldn't quite open. Daenery's saw him through the window in the hallway. She barreled in, tears in her eyes.  Terrified.  
  
Jon tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. "Told the doctors I got into a fight over a pub quiz."

She was overwhelmed, absolutely not in a joking mood--  
  
"What happened? Who did this? This man, he knew you were here..."

She tried to stop crying, but she couldn't.  She was shaking like a leaf. He took her hand. She touched his face.

"I’m fine."  
  
She sniffled, gasping out a sentence. "They followed me, I thought they were cops, and--"  
  
"I know."  
  
"What? What do you mean, you know?"  
  
"They’re sending a message."  
  
"The police?"  
  
'No, worse."

She'd had enough of this cryptic bullshit.  
  
"What? Then who?"  
  
"Bolton... I’m in trouble, Dany. It will be fine, but I need your help."  
  
She didn’t move. She didn't breathe. The fear, the waiting for the truth, was the worst part.  
  
"Bolton hired us to steal a painting he’s wanted forever. Simple deal, with a big advance because it’s a little more complicated... More preparation, more obstacles. A bigger job--"  
  
"Spit it out."  
  
"... He wants Jacob de Gheyn III."  
  
"The Takeaway Rembrandt?"

She was shocked. Jon confirmed it with a nod, avoiding her eyes.  
  
"That’s impossible. It’s a priceless painting. That’s a suicide mission."  
  
"I tried to get out. I told him I couldn’t do it, that I’m getting out of the business, that I’d repay the advance--"  
  
"And you’ve just been keeping this to yourself, this tiny facet of our business plan."  
  
"I was hoping I could make it go away. But I couldn’t. I can’t."

She paced, adrenaline coursing through her.  
  
"It’s just a painting."  
  
"No. That’s not true. These guys, they’re narcissists. It’s about power... Greed... Bolton's got a whole network behind him. We’re nothing up against them."  
  
"Let’s go to the police. Right now."  
  
"And say what, we’ve been threatened? We’re criminals. We’d spend the rest of our lives in jail."  
  
"What if we just disappeared?"  
  
"Are you listening? Bolton, these people, they run deep. He wants his painting now. The new wing... He knows this is his chance. The only way out is to give it to him."  
  
"You said you wanted a real life..."  
  
He met her eye with his good eye. Dead serious. "I do."  
  
"But you’re asking me to help you forge and steal a Rembrandt."

Dany leaned against the wall, mind spinning, searching--  
  
"He’ll come after me if we don’t get him his painting. He knows who you are. Where you are. He’ll come after you too."

Daenery's was chilled to her core. The gravity of this sunk in.  
  
"If we can’t pull this off..."

... Then Jon would die. This hung in the air between them for a long moment. But something struck her.  
  
"When did this start, this deal?"  
  
"Since before you came on."  
  
"Since before I came on. So... the funding of the new wing, the renovation, it was all for this."  
  
"Museums under construction--"  
  
"Are vulnerable."

Something clicked for Daenerys, but she didn't reveal it. Instead she spoke, quietly and with gravity.  
  
"Fuck you, Jon."  
  
"I’m sorry. You’re the only one who can help."

Dany processed the implications of this. Reeling. He watched her, desperate, waiting for a response. She leaned in:  
  
"I won’t let you back me into a corner. That’s not how this works."

He closed his eyes. He lost this battle, he was sure--  
  
"I will help you. But listen to me, it’s going to be on my terms. I’m planning this one."

He exhaled deeply, accepting this.  
  
"I’m going to fix everything."

Daenerys looked off, her mind ablaze.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany sat in her old spot, opposite Cersei's desk. Cersei held a copy of Dany's resume. She squinted at it.  
  
"Please, I’ll do anything for a second chance."  
  
"After how you behaved."  
  
"I’m so sorry. I was brazen and disrespectful and wrong. You were right. Support staff is where I belong. I was trying to cut corners, and I shouldn’t have."  She tried another angle. "You must be drowning in work with the new wing opening. I can help. I  
already know how everything works..."

Daenerys held her breath, wondering if she had gone too far...  
  
"Well. It’d be unpaid to start."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back in Jon's kitchen, Dany, Jon, Gendry and Davos ate dinner. She pitched them--  
  
"I’ll stay overnight at the museum. Linger at my desk, when everyone’s gone, sneak in and steal it--"  
  
Davos shook his head. "No way. She’s not doing this alone."  
  
Dany disagreed. "It’s the simplest way."

She looked to Jon, expecting him to defend her idea.  
  
"We’re doing this together, all of us. It’s safer that way. Bolton would never approve of just you... So... figure out something else."

Dany took in this obvious distrust. She sipped her wine.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany was back in her old routine. She punched a code and walked down a corridor to the new wing. She delivered a set of forms to the contractor. She assessed the room: the flooring was half-installed, the ceiling still covered in scaffolding. She clocked the latest set of blueprints on a table.  
  
"The rumors are true!"

Daenerys jumped, startled, turning to find Jorah. She hugged him.  
  
"What are you doing back here?"  
  
Dany smiled. "Believe it or not, I actually missed this place."  
  
"You’ve gone entirely mad. Come on, let’s have lunch."

She stole another look behind her as he lead her off.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In Jon's study, prep for the heist. A blown-up diagram of the new wing -- two large, adjoined rooms -- with points marked in red. The future location of the Takeaway Rembrandt was noted with an X, and the placement of the security camera was circled. Dany lead this planning phase, the guys listened. Gendry was skeptical, Davos seemed patient but unsure, and Jon was tense.  
  
"They move the paintings from the old baroque section to the new wing after closing on the 17th. But the new wing isn’t scheduled to open to the public until the 19th. So we’ve got 24 hours when those paintings are sitting on their freshly painted walls, alone. No people."  
  
Davos considered this. "If it’s closed, how will we get in?"  
  
"Jon, as a donor to the new wing, you’ll request a private tour. I’ll be happy to show you and a couple of your friends around before it’s open to the public. There will be a guard on rotation, but I’ll make sure my friend Jorah's on the schedule so we can  
get him out. The security camera will be installed here... So we’ll have to contend with that..."  
  
Gendry laughed. "“We’ll contend with that.” Sounds like you have an airtight plan--"  
  
"I’m figuring it out."  
  
"Really? You’re figuring it out. I’m so relieved. Jon, honestly, we should handle this part ourselves--"  
  
"No. This one’s mine."

Dany looked at Jon, testing him, testing his promise...  
  
"She's right."

Gendry shook his head. Even Davos looked nervous.  
  
Jon continued. "And what about our painting?"

Dany looked at him, eyes leveled.  
  
"It’ll be done."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys was hard at work, creating her forgery.

She had blown up a gigantic computer image of the Takeaway Rembrandt and separated it into quadrants.  
  
"A forgery like this takes painstaking work."

On a canvas, she delineated the same quadrants in pencil with brutal accuracy.

Dany's canvas was covered in pencil markings: an incredible sketch copy of the Takeaway Rembrandt.  
  
"It has to be so good that the museum won’t notice for a long, long time. Maybe ever..."  
  
 Dany pored over books on Baroque portraiture. Her finger traced down the page, landing on a section: Authentic Paints.  
  
"It’s possible. Fake Rembrandts have passed for real ones, only to be discovered decades later..."

With a mortar and pestle, Dany grinded pigments.

Using the giant photo as a guide, she began painting.

"... But it requires almost divine level precision."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany sat on the edge of the security desk with Jorah, as they ate bagged lunches. The bay of screens before Jorah flicked through security feeds of all the museum’s rooms.  
  
"Do you ever get lonely in the museum at night?"  
  
Jorah chuckled. "Oh, I haven’t worked a night shift in fifteen years."  
  
"But when you used to?"  
  
"Nah. Kinda nice here at night, actually. Quiet. You read... I like that Stephen King, did you ever read anything by him? And you can play whatever TV show you want, plus you have to go on rounds every three hours... Makes the time go."

As he rambled she studied the room... A white-board schedule.

The Rounds Log, a clipboard mounted on the wall.

And the Monitors: they showed black and white surveillance footage, the images were crisp but very bright.  
  
"It’s so bright. The exposure..."

Jorah seemed confused. "What?"  
  
"Nothing. You have to go on rounds every three hours, really?"

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the monitors...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back in the Dulwich Picture Gallery's Main Hall, Daenery's face was inches from the Takeaway. She looked over her shoulder, moved even closer, inspecting it. She made pencil dots on a pad of paper, held low against her side.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany shaded the face of Jacob de Gheyn with a fine brush. Now, it was less of a copying process and more of an intuitive one. The image burst to life on the canvas. His eyes were eerily blank, those were next. She was about to begin when... She stopped. Pulled back. She realized her hand was shaking. The pressure of this was all so much. She clenched and releases her hand, terrified that she couldn't handle this.


	7. The End

Back at her old place, Daenerys looked through her art supplies. She found what she needed: a special black tube for a canvas. She stopped and took in her messy apartment. Her old home... Something caught her eye: that sundial mobile, projecting a smiling face onto the wall. Dany slumped... The irony of it... And then... An idea struck her.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys was talking a mile-a-minute to Jon, Gendry, and Davos--  
  
"We don’t disconnect the security camera: we outsmart it. The same way artists use light to create a shadow, a highlight, a bright spot, we can use the light to disappear."

Jon locked eyes with Dany, impressed and curious.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Daenerys had built a homemade miniature replica of the Takeaway Rembrandt’s room. Her computer was open to an application that showed the Sun's position in the sky. She used a flashlight to represent the sun moving over the room and a piece of cardboard with a cut-out skylight for the ceiling.  
  
"Sun pouring through a 3-foot-by-4 foot skylight will create a rectangle of light that moves across the room from 8:15 a.m. to approximately 6:52, according to sunrise and sunset times for the 18th. You see? This shaft of light will shift based on the position of the sun. So when the sun is here... (moving the flashlight) ...from 12:58 to 1:01 or 1:02, the sun will hit the south wall, here. And we can harness it. Shoot it back to the camera. These security cameras, they’re pre-set, they don’t have an iris that adjusts automatically. If they receive a burst of light, they won’t be able to read... Do you see? The sun will allow us to--"  
  
Jon finished for her. "Steal the painting in plain sight."

The guys were rapt. Even Gendry was amazed by this.  
  
Dany smiled. "Totally undetected by the cameras. For a window of two, three minutes."  
  
Davos wasn't so convinced. "Won’t the guard, or whoever’s watching the cameras, notice? I mean, if I just see some ghostly burst of light in the gallery..."  
  
"They might see it, and think, oh, well, tomorrow we should move the camera, or get a screen for the skylight. But remember, this is the first day there will even be paintings in this section. They won’t notice before it’s too late."  
  
Davos considered this, content. He looked to Jon.  
  
Jon smiled. "It’s brilliant. You’re brilliant. But I know you. What’s the catch?"  
  
Dany smiled at 'I know you', feeling warm. She couldn't help but melt when he was proud of her. "The skylight in the new wing... Is not quite big enough."

Gendry threw his hands up, about to object--  
  
"Don’t worry, I have a plan."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany worked feverishly on something at the table. She was using a ruler, protractors, tracing paper. She was laser-focused...  
  
"I’ll create new blueprints, and then swap them out."

She was creating an incredible version of the new wing’s blueprints, with one addition: The Skylight.

Gendry was confused. "How will that possibly work?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In the new wing of the Dulwich Picture Gallery. Dany entered. On the workers’ table were the real blueprints.

In one fluid motion, she swapped with her forgery.  
  
"First of all, my copy will be perfect, except for the necessary changes, of course."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Hammering and sawing in the new wing. The construction team worked away. A bigger skylight was being built in the new wing.  
  
"Second of all, they know me. They trust me. They see me every day."  
  
Dany stood below as sawdust flied. Cersei stormed in, arguing with the Contractor. She pointed to the skylight. He showed her Daenery's faked blueprint.

For an excruciating moment Dany watched, waited, wondering if this would satisfy Cersei. Cersei’s eyes narrowed on the page...

... She handed the blueprint back to the contractor, sheepish.

She apologized for what was clearly a misunderstanding...  
  
"They would never suspect me."

Satisfied, Dany turned and left.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys finished her painting:

With a thick brush, Dany coated the painting in chemicals.

She dried it under a special fan. The canvas was softer, more delicate. This process aged the painting.

She stretched the painting over a wooden frame and secured it. She consulted the pad lined in dots. Turned on a drill. Its rotating point was fine, a pinprick.

Her little pad of paper marked in dots was poised in front of her. She punctured the canvas in spots corresponding with the dots on the pad. The drill buzzed, loud. Dany was so focused she didn't hear Jon come in behind her...  
  
"Looks fantastic."

Dany jumped, her hand slipped, and the drill dipped back to the surface of the painting. A hole, larger than the rest.  
  
"Oh my god!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"No! The wormhole. This is supposed to be tiny, a flaw, exactly like the original. Why would you sneak up on me? This needs to be perfect!"

Jon smiled at her. "It is perfect."  
  
Dany shook her head, distressed. "What’ll happen if someone at the museum recognizes this?"  
  
"They won’t. You need to relax."  
  
"Get out! Just let me work!"

She was serious. He pivoted and went, leaving her alone.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys looked weary, like she hadn’t left her workspace in weeks. But the painting was nearly complete, and it was stunning. The days marked off on her calendar said it was the 17th. She looked at the enlarged photograph of the Takeaway, then at her forgery. They were identical. There was just one thing left.

Rembrandt's signature. On a sheet of paper, she had practiced it dozens of times. Now it was time for the real thing. Her brush hovered over the canvas’s corner. She steadied her hand, steadied her mind. One wrong move and it was all over.

She signed. Fast. Confident.

She observed her work. Dany’s Rembrandt signature was perfect. She took this in, all alone. After a moment, Dany got up. She moved to the door, and with a decisive calm, locked it. Dany rolled up her painting. She slid it into the black tube and put the tube inside her purse.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany went about her day at work:

She brought a perfect cup of tea to Cersei, surrounded by paperwork. Cersei, for once, didn’t bark at Dany.

She walked up to the new wing. It was complete, but the walls were empty. Light streamed in through that skylight.  
  
She walked alongside Jorah on his rounds. A museum-goer stopped to ask Jorah a question, and Daenerys reached into Jorah's loose blazer pocket... She picked out his ID card.

Dany put Jorah's ID card in the bottom drawer of her desk.

She watched as workers carefully moved paintings, frames and all, from the walls of the main hall. She followed them...

One worker gingerly carried the Takeaway Rembrandt...

And set it on the wall of the new wing.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys intercepted a worker who was hanging a Baroque mirror.  
  
"Excuse me? Hi. That piece goes on the south wall.'  
  
"Really? But my instructions say--"  
  
She cut him off. "No, no, no, listen to me, it absolutely must go on the south wall. It’s too cramped on the north wall, come see-- over here-- it will totally open up the space." She looked over, and he wasn't following. "I can call Cersei and she’ll tell you herself, but she really doesn’t like to be bothered this late..."

The worker caved, bringing the mirror to the south wall.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany poked her head in. A guard, Sam, chubby and friendly, sat. Her eyes scanned his rounds log mounted by the doorway.  
  
"Goodnight, Sam."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In the basement of the gallery, Dany was back in her office. She slumped in her chair, cheek pressed to her desk. She fell asleep...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Inside the Dulwich Picture Gallery that night. The lights flicked off in the different sections of the museum. The lobby. The main hall. The basement. The new wing.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back at Jon's house in the early morning, Daenerys staggered in, wearing yesterday’s clothes.  
  
Jon glanced up.  He sighed in relief.  Her heart pained her briefly. "Where have you been?"  
  
"I stayed at my place."  
  
"Okay... I missed you."  
  
She tried to ignore the effect he was having on her. "The painting’s finished. I’ll be waiting for you guys in the lobby at 12:45 sharp. I’m ready."

She unbuttoned her shirt and slipped out of her clothes. He looked at her, betraying a bit of longing...

She sighed. "It’s not lost on me, you know. I get it. Your whole plan."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I was a mark. A pawn. Bolton hired you to steal The Takeaway Rembrandt, you orchestrated the timing perfectly, the whole plan. But you needed someone you could use. On the inside. And you got me..." She finished sadly.

He looked speechless... Exhausted... She guessed he had no defense.  
  
"Access to the museum. Knowledge of the security system, the Rembrandt, the new wing. Didn’t hurt that I could copy a painting. Most of all, someone you could leave with the smoking gun if things went to shit."  
  
Jon shook his head. "No, that part’s not true."  
  
Her eyes filled with tears. "Everything was a con. You said you wanted a life together, that I was enough. Did you ever care about me?'  
  
"When we chose you for this job I didn’t know I’d fall in love."

She shook her head as she pulled on her work clothes.  
  
"I don’t know what’s real anymore."  
  
"Listen. After we survive this, you can leave. With me or without me. But you need to know that I meant everything I said. I didn’t mean to love you, but I did. And I do."

Dany turned her back to him.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

As Jorah approached the Employee Entrance, he looked for his ID card. But it was not there. Cersei strutted in behind him.  
  
"What’s the problem, Jorah?"  
  
"Sorry, Boss, I can’t seem to find my ID Card..."

Cersei seared him with her glare. Jorah cowered.  
  
"That’s a major security breach."  
  
"I had it yesterday. It must be in the museum."  
  
Cersei sighed. "Find it by the end of today or there will be serious consequences."

She opened the door for him. Jorah looked terrified...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jon, Dany, Gendry and Davos stood before the easel, where the painting was affixed.

Jon had a leather envelope inlaid in a special briefcase to transport the painting. Dany whimpered as he reached for it.  
  
"Careful..."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany rushed into the gallery, through the main hall, and straight to the New Wing where everything was perfect. The paintings hung on the pristine walls, the mirror was in place, and the sun cascaded through the skylight. Content, Dany eyed The Takeaway Rembrandt.

But when she turned to leave, her face fell...

A group of people were huddled at the new wing’s entrance.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany trailed Cersei, who explained, to Daenery's horror--  
  
"...We always let our members see a new exhibit a day before the public. How do you think we get them to pay 100 pounds a year?"

Daenerys was dumbstruck... Practically shaking as she took in the gravity of this... She had made a fatal mistake.  
  
Cersei nodded. "Go on, they’re waiting for you."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany met Jon, Gendry, and Davos in the lobby. She moved close to Jon, spoke low, trying to contain her utter panic--  
  
"We have a problem. They... I didn’t know... They let the museum members in for tours a day early. I guess they do that, and I didn’t know--"

Davos got it. "You mean people, in the new wing?"

Jon was gobsmacked. Dany nodded, she could barely form words.  
  
Davos shook his head. "This is over. I’m calling it off. It’s too big of a risk."  
  
Dany felt a spike of resolve. "No. We can’t. This is our only chance. In another day they’ll notice the glare from the light-- They’ll move the camera. We have to do this now."

She stared at Jon, eyes wild, she meant this with every fiber of her being.  
  
Jon frowned. "How do you expect to--"  
  
"I’ll distract them. You’ll need ten seconds... I’ll find it somehow."

Jon looked at Daenerys, considering.  
  
"When we’re in the room, I’ll spot you. You wait for my signal."

Dany stalked off. Jon was still, weighing this, considering...  
  
Gendry shook his head. "This is insane."  
  
Jon decided. "I trust her. Let’s go."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Dany met a group of about twenty five people outside the new wing. Jon, Gendry, and Davos joined the group, at the back.  
  
"Hi, everyone. Welcome to the Dulwich Picture Gallery."

As the crowd assembled to follow her, Dany saw Jorah--  
  
"Jorah, Jorah-- I found your ID card, on the floor in the lobby."  
  
"Oh, thank god! Cersei was going to have my head--"

"Go get it, it’s in my cube. On the bookshelf, I think."

He looked at the group, considering. He really was not supposed to leave...  
  
"Go ahead, I can handle this crowd."

He smiled, grateful, and rushed off.

Dany's eyes locked with Jon's as this part clicked into place.

She looked down at her watch: 12:51.

Her heart pounding like a drum, she lead the group into The New Wing. Hey eyes scanned the gallery. She was gut-punched when she realized... There was no longer any light in the room.

She peeked up through the skylight: gray clouds had obscured the sun.

Her eyes searched the floor... But there was no strip of light, nothing... Their whole plan... It was ruined...  
  
"Okay, everyone... Let’s start over here, with the Vermeers."

Over her shoulder, she shared a devastated glance with Jon. She looked at her watch -- 12:52. Time was slipping away...

... But she pressed on, not knowing what else to do.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany spoke before the Vermeers.

She showcased the Takeway Rembrandt. She looked at it, desperate, an almost crazed sense of longing in her eyes...  
  
Before a still life, Dany’s eyes flicked to the skylight again. There was still no shaft of light, no light at all.

On her watch: 12:59. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

Jon and the guys stayed at bay at the back of the room. Dany looked at Jon. She shuddered as if to say it’s all over.

At the back of the group, Gendry whispered to Jon.  
  
"We’re dead, Jon."

Jon, steely, was held in a boiling flood of emotion.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jorah, rushing to Dany’s office, crossed with Cersei.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"I found my card. Well, Daenerys did, it’s in her office, I’m going to--"  
  
"You left your post?"

Jorah was not sure what the right answer to this was...  
  
Cersei rolled her eyes. "Go ahead, get that card. I’ll make sure all’s well up there."

Exasperated, Cersei sauntered off.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Dany's watch read 1:01. She was about to give up, when, just as she was turning to lead the group away...

... Majestically, miraculously, those fickle London clouds parted and sun streamed in through the skylight. A bright, concentrated shaft of light hit the mirror and shot up to the camera where it flooded the lens!

Dany's mouth fell open. Her head snapped to her watch. They had mere seconds to complete this, but she gave the signal to Jon -- an intense glare and a nod of her head.

NOW.  
  
He didn't seem to believe it at first, but then he saw-- They had a chance. His gloved fist tightened around his briefcase. And the careful, painstaking dance began:

Jon, Gendry and Davos retreated towards the back of the room where the Takeaway was mounted on the far wall. Dany corralled her tour over to a painting so that the crowds’ backs were to the guys. Dany was facing the guys. Her eyes locked on Jon.  
  
"Everyone, let’s come over here to our old friend Rubens and talk a little about his depiction of femininity. Come on, closer."

Daenerys ushered everyone extremely close to a Rubens painting.

And right at that moment, Cersei walked into the room. She joined Dany's tour. Dany looked like she was about to vomit. When it rained it poured. Cersei faced Dany, but if she were to turn around, she’d see Jon, Gendry, and Davos hovering over the Takeaway...  
  
Dany continued, hanging on by a thread. "We see in this representation... An obvious affection for the subject."

At the Takeaway, switchblades snapped open from gloved hands. A TICK-TICK sound.

At the Rubens, Dany heard that TICK. No good. She glared at Jon, frozen.  
  
"The way that the light hits her..."

Dany’s heart was in her throat. She looked at the sun -- time was running out -- and at her group: Eyes wandered... Someone looked off to the side... This wasn't enough... She had to distract them... Could she do it? Will she do it?

Jon’s stare burned into Daenerys. A bead of sweat dripped down her face. She blinked hard. Breathing. Her lips were dry and quivering. Cersei glanced to the side, and was about to turn around when--

"Hey."

Cersei looked to the front, and Daenerys screamed:  
  
"HEY! Look up here, FUCKING LOOK UP HERE, this is art--Do you not think this is important? THIS IS FUCKING IMPORTANT! You’re lucky to be standing here, at least fucking LOOK AT IT!!!"

She was completely losing it, and as she screamed:  
  
At the Takeaway, there was a symphony of movements over mere seconds:

Two fast slices. Gendry and Davos, on either side of the painting, used their knives to wedge open the frame.

Without taking the painting down from its wire cables anchored to the wall, Jon separated the bottom of the frame.

Davos peeled Dany's forgery from its leather envelope.

Jon slipped out the original and inserted the forgery. 

Jon double checked Dany's forgery on the museum wall.  
  
At the Rubens, Dany continued. "I SAID THIS IS FUCKING IMPORTANT!!!"

The people on the tour couldn't tear their eyes away from her... She was crazed, red-faced... She had completely lost herself... When Dany looked up, shaking, panting, as though coming out of a trance, the guys were gone. The Takeaway appeared untouched.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dany walked through the museum, scanning the area for the guys, who were nowhere to be found. Cersei approached...

"Daenerys!"

Dany didn't move a centimeter. She didn't even breathe.  
  
"You’re a very bizarre girl." Dany didn't react. "And you’re fired, obviously."

Daenerys quietly absorbed this. Cersei walked off, annoyed.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Dany burst out of the front doors, alone. She hurried down the museum’s grand steps and into the courtyard...

She stopped for a moment, taking in the people around her. Tourists moved happily to the museum’s entrance. A group of school kids in uniforms ate lunch in the courtyard. A cute couple sat on the steps and looked at the Dulwich pamphlet. She was struck by all these people... All types, all walks of life. All connected to the museum. And she smirked to herself.

She continued on, leaving the Dulwich behind.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

That night, in Roose Bolton's Private Vault, there was mahogany, recessed lighting, and illicit art. The collection was incredible. There was a Degas statue, a huge Francis Bacon.

Jon and Bolton sat while his thugs entered.

Clegane carried the briefcase. He snapped it open, unrolling...

The Takeaway Rembrandt. Bolton beamed. He looked over the canvas... The image... The signature. He smelled it. And grinned. As he did, Jon squinted at the painting, too.

In the center was that wormhole.

It was just a little too big.

Jon smiled

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sdSai09_jzc

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back in the new wing of the Dulwich Picture Gallery. Cersei, Jorah, and another guard inspected the new wing.  
  
Cersei shook her head. "I don’t understand. It’s a brand new camera."  
  
Jorah shook his head. "Not the camera, Ma’am, the amount of light. Makes it hard to see."  
  
Cersei sighed. "Fine. We’ll fix it tomorrow. Nothing’s been touched in here."

Jorah walked past the Takeaway. Its frame was slightly askew.  
  
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back in Jon's house, Daenery's suitcase was open. She packed clothes, jewelry, her old paintbrushes. Jon suddenly peeked in. He couldn't hide his wry smile.  
  
"How did you do it?"

She expected anger.  She expected bitterness and contempt.  Instead all she saw was...  Pride.  It broke her heart. But he clearly got it, and she loved that about him.  
  
She closed her eyes and thought back to a familiar scene. The hospital.  Jon lied in the bed, half dead. Dany leaned in, whispering in Jon's ear:  
  
"I’m going to fix everything."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back in Jon's bedroom she smiled sadly at him.

"You went too far. I had to stop it." She thought for a moment. Bolton will get a professional pair of eyes on that painting soon."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

FLASHBACK

Back in her studio, Daenery's rolled up her copy and puts it inside the black tube.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Jon nodded sadly. "And when he does I’ll take the fall. He’ll come after me."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

FLASHBACK

Dany was in the Dulwich Picture Gallery's control room.  She said goodnight to Sam, the night guard. She clocked his rounds log and noted the time of the last entry -- 10:15 p.m.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys nodded sadly in agreement. "I know. That’s why I suggest you get out of the country. Now."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

FLASHBACK

Back in the Gallery Dany slept, head on her desk. An alarm on her phone woke her: Rounds, 1:15 a.m. She took the black tube from her bag. Dany stalked down the main hall, past the control room. She peered in. On a monitor marked impressionists, she could see Sams figure on the screen. He was doing his rounds.

Dany disappeared into the darkened museum.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

FLASHBACK

Dany punched the code into the door’s keypad, and moved into the new wing. She stood, alone, before the Takeaway. She opened the black tube and pulled out her Forgery. She reached up around the Takeaway’s frame. She was wearing gloves, and she opened an Exacto knife. She wedged the frame open.

And removed the original Rembrandt, slow, careful, barely touching it as she did. Her body shaking. Breathing hard. She calmed herself. Rolled the original into the tube. Dany slipped her forgery into the frame. For a moment, she was mesmerized, looking at her masterpiece hanging on the wall...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jon smiled sadly at her. "I’ll leave tonight. The question is, are you coming with me?"

She knew what she wanted.  Of course it was what she wanted.  But the sting of betrayal was too fresh. The hurt of being used, just some mark, too fresh.

"No."

He was crushed, but he looked like he knew better than to fight her.  
  
"You said you’d fix everything, and you did. Thank you."

She was surprised to hear this...  It was oddly touching.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-  
  
Downstairs, she crossed with Davos as she walked out.  
  
"Hey. Good job, Dany. Brilliant."

She smiled sadly at him, this friend she would never see again.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Back in her shitty flat. Lugging her suitcase, Dany flicked on the light. Her place was a depressing mess. Her phone rang. On the screen: It said Mom.  
  
She silenced it. She unzipped her suitcase and dumped the contents on her bed. She started unpacking. Her phone rang again.

This time she answered.  
  
"Hey, Mom, I’m so sorry we haven’t talked, I’ve been so busy, I just--"

Daenery's Mother ran into the living room of their small Cape home, holding up the phone.  
  
"Aerys! I got her! Honey, you haven’t answered your phone in forever!"

Dany searched for the words to explain before her mother continued.  
  
"Well... we love it. We don’t know what to say. We’re just ecstatic!"

Behind her mother, their home was full of people.  
  
"Your father’s running a museum in our living room!"

Daenerys frowned, baffled. "What are you talking about?"

Her mother laughed. "What? The painting, the Van Gogh!"

Behind her should on the mantle where the poster once hung was a real Van Gogh.

"When did you... I’m sorry, I... When did you receive that? How?"

Her mother continued, delighted. "The papers came first from a courier, then a delivery company brought it in an armored truck."

Daenerys shook her head. "It has its papers? It’s... Real."  
  
"Yeah, we know. Dad was so excited that he cried. I’ll put him on!"  
  
Daenerys shook her head, tears filling her eyes as she had to cover her mouth to muffle her gasp... And as she did something caught her eye.

Something in the pile of clothes she had just dumped out.

A piece of paper. A postcard, slipped between her things.  
  
On the Postcard was a drawing of a towel on the beach over a seal: NANTUCKET, MA.

The very emblem of a simple life.

On the back a message in familiar scrawl read: “The key is under the mat.”

There was no postmark.  
  
Her mother interrupted her thoughts. "You all right?"  
  
"Yeah, sorry Mom, I’m all right."

She closed her eyes, and dropped the postcard back to the pile.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Daenerys entered a modest apartment building, approaching a doorway with a wilted plant and a worn welcome mat. She touched the door with the palm of her hand, and carefully slipped an envelope under the door.

She rang the bell. By the time Jorah answered, she was gone.

He picked up the envelope and looked inside. It was full of cash.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

At Dany's flat there was a knock at the door. Dany answered. It was Missy and Renly, and her whole body sighed in relief. She hugged Missy tight.  
  
"You came. I can’t believe you came."  
  
"Had to see if you were truly alive."  
  
"I am now. Somewhat. I promise."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

A small ferry glided over gray water in Nantucket.  
  
On a bench at the back of the boat, Jon sat, suitcase at his feet, sunglasses on. An old lady read a book nearby.  
  
"First time to Nantucket?"  
  
Jon smiled at her. "Yes."  
  
"Looking for some peace and quiet?"

He smiled again, ‘yes.’ The horn bellowed as they approached the harbor.

He collected his bag and a lone painting wrapped in paper. Through a tear... Dany's Elvis peeked through

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

He approached Three Beach Street. It was a tiny cottage, weathered by wind and rain, built into the sand dune. Jon took a breath of fresh air. He approached the front door...

He peeled up the sea-shell print mat, hopeful...

...But the spare house key was still there. He deflated.  Heartbroken.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jon trudged inside. In the entryway, he froze. Sensing movement. He took a careful step down the hallway. Another.

Braced for danger... He heard, in the bathroom, a CLINKING...

He stepped around the corner, tense...

...And found Daenerys, in the bathtub, drinking a glass of wine.  
  
"I decided we could call it even." He smiled at her, in awe.  She smiled back. "Oh, I broke in. The back window’s loose, always has been."

Jon dropped to his knees.  He looked at her like she was the most lovely thing he had ever seen. She couldn't help the tears and happy smile that burst onto her face.  
  
She continued. "We’ll have to fix that."

She gave him a long, luxurious kiss.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EkPy18xW1j8

THE END


End file.
